Nasty Girl
by Flagg1991
Summary: After finding a pornographic magazine at the dump, Lana decides she wants to try this 'sex' thing with her brother, Lincoln, who is dealing with a hurtful betrayal. Cover by Raganoxer.
1. Dump Find

Lana Loud loved two things in the world. One was fixing things, and the other was gross stuff: The bitter, throat-pinching taste of worm guts; the smell of hot poo in the morning; being covered from head to toe in muck, scum, and filth; picking her butt and sniffing her finger - then surreptitiously putting it in her mouth (if she tasted doo doo, she knew it was time for a bath); and her favorite thing of all...eating grody stuff out of the trash. Have you ever had pre chewed gum? She had, and the previous owner's saliva made it _sooo_ much better. What about half-eaten hot dogs covered in spoiled milk? That was a rare delicacy, but when she found it, ooooh, mama.

Her favorite place in the world was the Royal County Dump on Route 17, just outside of town: It was to her what the mall was to her older sister Leni, what the comic book store was to her brother Lincoln, what...you get the idea. She could spend hours roaming the maze-like heaps, inhaling the sweet scent of garbage rotting in the summer sun and rummaging through piles of junk and dirty diapers. If there was really a heaven like her Sunday school teacher said, it was here, on one thousand acres.

Today, June 16, she slipped through a girl sized hole in the fence (that she _maaaay_ have made herself with a pair of bolt cutters) and scurried between towering walls of waste at a crouch - the guy who ran the place had already kicked her out three times, and she was certain that her fourth strike would be her last...he'd either kill and eat her or call the cops. She didn't know which scared her more, winding up on Steve's table like a Thanksgiving turkey, or explaining to her mom and dad why they needed to come down to the police station and bail her out. Luna got arrested once for getting drunk with her friends, and she was grounded for _ever_ : Seriously, like six months. Lana wasn't like Lucy or Lincoln, both of whom _loved_ being indoors, she needed fresh air and fresh mud. The feeling of it squishing between her toes and covering her naked body, as though she were one of the animals she collected from the street and the schoolyard, was _awesome_ , and if she got caged up, she'd go crazy. Uh-uh. No _thank you_.

At the end of a row, she dropped to her knees and looked at the frog sticking out of her chest pocket. "We gotta be _real_ quiet, buddy; if Steve finds us, our ass is grass." She said the last part in a low, serious whisper, her eyes widening: That was so that Hopps understood the gravity of their situation.

He croaked his agreement.

"Good," she said and leaned forward to look around the corner: Steve's Airstream trailer sat against the wood fence separating the dump from the Royal River, silver and cylindrical like a bullet. A broken patio set stood to one side of the door, and Steve's battered Ford was parked nearby. Damn. She was hoping he wasn't around.

When the driver side door opened, she shrank back and flattened herself against a piece of rusted metal shoved deep into the ground. Steve got out and took a drag from a cigarette. A tall, lanky man with greasy black hair pulled back into a ponytail, he wore dark gray overalls tattered and covered in dirt, and muddy work boots. He scratched his butt and let out a long belch; maybe it was her imagination, but she thought she could smell his body odor from here, like an oniony gas station chili dog. He might not like her very much, but she thought he was the coolest dude _ever_ and she wanted to be just like him when she grew up. She could see herself now roaming the dump from sunup to sundown, sifting through mountains of refuse and ripping open bags to finish off moldy slices of pizza and rotten fruit, then at night the fragrance of trash would lull her gently to sleep: Ahhh, that's the life. Did this guy realize how good he had it?

He dropped his cigarette and ground it under his heel, then started around the front of the truck as the passenger door swung open. A short, fat black woman in fishnet stockings and a leopard print mini skirt climbed out, the sun glistening on the back of her neck like it was a pack of Ballpark Franks. Yes! Fate was on her side: She didn't know who that woman was, but every time she came over, Steve was too preoccupied to walk his usual beat, which meant she didn't have to worry about ducking him. Not for the first time she wondered what they did in there. Whatever it was, it made the trailer rock so violently it looked like it was going to fall over. It also produced a lot of grunting and moaning. Exercising? Lynn sounded like that when she was doing calisthenics, only she didn't scream "Oh, Jesus!" and "I'm cumming!"

Steve laid his hand on the woman's shoulder. "You gonna give me a discount this time?"

The woman threw up her hand and pulled away. "Why you gotta be so cheap? You know I got six kids to feed."

She went up the step and inside with a shake of the head. Steve watched her for a moment, his posture angry, then followed, pulling the door closed behind him.

Grinning, Lana looked down at Hopps. "The dump is ours."

On her feet, she darted across, scurried along a mound of trash, and turned left into a corridor made up by other mounds so high they blotted out the sun and cast the path in cool and perpetual shadows. She fell into a slow, steady pace, her head turning back and forth as she scanned the ground for something good. Last week, she found a bunch of medical waste and spent nearly an hour kicking a decomposing kidney around like a soccer ball until a rat the size of a small dog shot out of a burrow, snatched it between its teeth, and ran off. She _loved_ dump rats. She brought one home one time but it got loose and bit Dad on the ankle; he said if she ever did it again he wouldn't let her have _any_ pets, so that was a bust. *Kicks dirt*

At an intersection, she turned right: Piles of twisted metal, refrigerators, ovens, car parts, and building materials lined the way. The overpowering stench of raw sewage found her nose, and it crinkled. "Oh, gross. Where's that coming from?" She stopped and looked around, spotting a cracked septic tank oozing brown slime. "Oh, wow," she said appreciatively. She went over and examined it like an archaeologist might a relic from a dead civilization. "This baby's gotta be _at least_ fifty years old." Hopps looked up at her and tilted his head curiously. "Five whole decades of poop and pee." She shivered in delight.

She wasn't in the mood for that, though, she wanted something else...something…

Well, she didn't know, but she would when she saw it. Patting the tank, she went on, looking here, there, and everywhere like a kid in a candy store.

She turned a corner, and something crinkled under the sole of her shoe. She stepped back and glanced down: A torn, soggy, and dog-earned magazine with a woman on the cover: She wore tight booty shorts and a sports bra: She touched one finger to her chin and looked at the reader like _Oops._ Lana stooped down, picked it up, and read the title: It was a word she had never seen before, and she squinted her eyes as she tried to sound it out. "Huuuu-ssssst-lerrrrr. Who-stil-er. Hm. That's a strange name for a magazine." She opened it, and froze at what she saw: A naked man with his thing in his hand and a woman on her knees looking at it cross-eyed. "Whoa," she drew, her eyes lingering on the guy's wiener. It was big and veiny and suddenly she was feeling a strange tingle between her legs that she had only ever felt when Lincoln came out into the hall in just his undies.

Hopps croaked; he, too, was staring at the picture.

"That's _nothing_ like Lincoln's," Lana marveled. She knew because when you live with ten siblings, you're bound to see their bodies whether you want to or not. Lincoln's thing was small, pink, and hairless, dangling there like the limp body of a dead mole rat. This one didn't dangle, it stood tall and proud like a ship's mast, the head tinged purple and the slit thingie on top leaking clear fluid.

A ripple went through Lana's stomach, and her heart began to race. She swallowed, but her mouth was dry. She looked around, saw a tin can filled with rain water, and took a deep drink; the dead bodies of bugs tickled her throat on the way down.

Sitting, she crossed her legs and rested her back against the crumpled door of a sedan. Hopps leapt out of her pocket and landed on her knee, where he leaned over to get a better look at the page. She flipped it, and the woman was licking the guy's thingamabob while looking up at the man with the kind of eyes she sometimes saw her mother give her father.

She licked her lips and looked at Hopps. "That's gross," she said, "putting a boy's thing in your mouth." She turned back to the magazine. "I like it." She turned the page, and the woman's face was covered in drippy white slime, her mouth open and long rivers dribbling down her lips and chin like snot. Only it wasn't snot: It was thicker and whiter, and from the look on the woman's face, it tasted much, much better.

"Wow," Lana breathed. She felt really funny: Her skin was flushed like she was running a fever and her stomach fluttered; her thing felt squishy and swollen, and when she shifted her weight, her inner thigh touched it and sent a quiver racing through her body. She wasn't aware that she was breathing heavy, or that a ribbon of drool coursed down her chin; her eyes were glued to the man's thing, and to the white stuff leaking from his tip. She wondered what it felt like...and what it tasted like. Probably sweaty and nasty.

In other words: Delicious.

She shifted again, and something wet smeared across the inside of her leg. Frowning, she slipped one hand into her overalls, plastered her tongue to her upper lip as she reached, then touched her thing: It was _really_ hot and something wet and sticky blotted her fingertips. Huh. Did she piss on herself? She pulled her hand back and held it up: Her fingers shimmered in an stray shaft of sunlight. What the? She brought them to her nose and sniffed, but smelled only the normal dank muskiness she was used to. She lifted them to her mouth and swiped her tongue across her index finger.

It was kind of metallic, definitely not pee.

Hopps watched her curiously.

"I-I think we should go," she said nervously.

Seeming to nod, Hopps jumped back into her pocket and she got to her feet, rolled the magazine up, and stuck it into her back pocket. She took a step and winced at the tacky sensation between her legs.

As she left the dump, Lana Loud was confused, excited, and kind of grossed out.

All in all, her trip was a success.

* * *

Lincoln Loud's day started off bad: He woke himself by rolling off of his bed and whacking his head on the edge of the nightstand - giving himself a ugly purple bruise in the process - then, when he tried to pull himself up, it tipped over and his clock busted him in the mouth. _I oughta get back in bed and stay there,_ he thought as he lie flat on his back, his mouth pooling with blood. _Today is_ canceled.

That might have been an option any other day, but today was _not_ just another day: He was going to meet Ronnie Anne at the arcade, and after six months of dating, he was finally going to make his move, finally going to do to her what he'd been wanting to do since he first met her.

Yup.

He was going to hold her hand.

Excitement blossomed in his chest, and he staggered to his feet with a smile. All of his hard work was going to pay off at last: He'd spent months building up the courage to do this, and nothing, read _nothing,_ was going to stop him.

At his dresser, he took out a pair of jeans and slid them on, then his shirt. "I'm _very_ nervous," he said to no one (taking out loud helped him think and work through his many, many issues). "Part of me wants to back down - again - but I _really_ like Ronnie Anne, and I think it's time I take things to the next level." He sat on the edge of his bed and pulled on his socks. "Holding a girl's hand is a big deal, and I'm so scared she'll say no that I'm shaking." He uttered a sharp, humorless laugh; it was true, his hands trembled like his name was Michael J. Fox and his stomach was tied in a knot The Flying Dutchman would be proud of. He didn't think he could take it if Ronnie Anne rejected him - he'd probably break down and cry like he did when he asked Cristina out and she called him a 'freak.'

But, like his sister Lynn always said, no pain, no gain, and the risk is worth the reward. The risk was having his fragile heart shattered into a million pieces, but the reward was slipping his fingers through Ronnie Anne's and mixing his palm sweat with hers. He threw back his head and let out a long, trembling moan. "I can't _wait_. I just hope she's ready for this."

The door slammed open, and he jumped, a tiny cry escaping his lips. Lori furrowed her brow and looked around. "Are you _literally_ talking to yourself again?"

Talking to himself was therapeutic, but his family didn't look at it that way; they thought it meant he was crazy. "N-No," he said and smiled sheepishly. "I was...uh...practicing for a play. That's it."

Lori squinted her eyes and jabbed a finger at him, which made him cringe. "I'm watching you, Norman Bates."

With that, she withdrew and pulled the door with her.

Lincoln let out a deep breath and sagged his shoulders. How could he put it? His sisters were total bitches. Except for Leni. And Lucy. And Lana. The rest were horrible. They beat him up, took his things without asking, made fun of him, pulled mean pranks on him, and ordered him around like a slave. Yesterday, Lori had him clean her room, then Lola drafted him to play tea party with her... _or I'm telling Dad you look at porn._

That happened one time! And it was an accident! He clicked on a link, and a window popped up: Two men doing...things...to a woman, awful things, disrespectful things. Of course, Lola chose that precise moment to walk behind him. _*Gasp* Lincoln! I can't believe this!_

Playing tea party with Lola was the least of yesterday's hit parade: Lynn drilled a football at the back of his head while he was walking down the hall, then Luan dumped a bucket full of ice cold water on him while he was down. _Wet's up, Linc? Water you doing down there?_ She stuck out her hand to help him up, and when he took it, a jolt of pain shot up his arm. When he finally got to his feet, Lynn yanked his pants down, and Luna appeared from nowhere with her guitar to serenade him with an impromptu song.

 _He's got small balls_

 _He's got small balls_

 _They're the smallest_

 _Balls of them all!_

They could be so evil sometimes. They had their good moments - helping him, being there for him, looking out for him - but they were few and far between. He really couldn't complain since they did it to each other too, but being the only boy among a giant pack of girls, he already felt like an outsider, so when they ganged up on him, it hurt even worse.

Sigh.

That was a worry for another day, though; Ronnie Anne and the arcade awaited.

In the hall, Luna, Lola, Leni, Luan, and Lori waited in line for the bathroom. He fell in behind Lori and stretched. Maybe if he was _really_ smooth, Ronnie Anne would let him kiss her on the cheek.

That thought made him blush furiously.

"What's the matter, Linc?" Lynn asked and slapped him hard on the back. "Digging the way Lori smells?"

Lincoln's eyes widened in horror. "N-No! I-I…"

"Listen to him stammer, girls," Luna said, "he totally was."

"I swear!"

Lori looked over her shoulder and flicked her eyes from the tips of his toes to the tippy top of his cowlick, a sneer of disgust crossing her lips. "Even if you weren't my brother, I would _never_." She shook her head and turned away.

He started to speak, to plead with them to not think he was a pervert, but his words turned into a cry of pain when Lynn grounded her knuckles into his scalp. "I would," she said, "but only outta pity since no one else will."

"Stop!" Lincoln cried and pulled away from her grasp.

"Lincoln," Lori sighed, "it is too early for your little girly screams. If you need a tampon, there're some in my top drawer."

"I don't need a tampon!"

See the kind of stuff he put up with?

Thankfully he was spared a roast session at the table: It was Lily's turn to catch that heat. "She drinks her bottle like a total slut," Lori commented. Lily sat in her highchair at the head of the table, her bottle in her mouth. Lincoln sat between Lynn and Luan, and winced. Sorry, sis, welcome to the Loud house.

"It's your breakfast, honey," Lola said, " _not_ your boyfriend."

Lily sat her bottle on the tray and glared at the beauty queen.

"That tuft of hair on her head makes the perfect handle," Lynn said.

Everyone laughed cruelly except for Lincoln, Leni, and Lana. Lucy wasn't around - she liked to eat after everyone else was done because she was too sensitive _to endure their constant mocking._

He would have spoken up, but he didn't want to make himself a target. At least Lily was part of the girls' club and not condemned to stand forever outside looking in.

"Practicing for daycare?" Lori asked and leaned over, her face hovering inches from Lily's "The boys are gonna _love_ you."

Lily's face darkened. " _Poo poo,"_ she said, her voice low and dangerous.

Lori sat up straight and grinned evilly. "Just don't come home pregnant."

"You little thot," Lola added.

Okay, this was going too far. Lincoln opened his mouth to tell them to leave her alone, but Lily struck, throwing her bottle at Lori. It hit her in the chest, and the top flew off; milk splattered the front of her shirt. Crying out, she jumped roughly to her feet, her chair tipping backwards and falling over. "Literally what the hell?" she screamed. "We were just playing with you!"

Lily crossed her arms and whipped her head away.

More laughter. "Gee, Lori," Luna said, "that milk looks really good on you."

"It's totes this season," Leni said, and it was clear from her tone that she wasn't making fun of Lori, she was just trying to be encouraging.

Growling, Lori stalked off to change, and that was that. Whew. Many more of these and Lincoln was going to pull his hair out.

After breakfast, he went upstairs and tried to lose himself in a comic while he waited to leave, but his mind kept going back to Ronnie Anne: Her hair like midnight, her eyes bright as starlight, the sound of her voice the sweetest music. He drew a deep, dreamy sigh and sat the comic aside. "I think she might be the one," he said aloud, "I can totally see myself marrying her and having kids."

He realized then that he wanted that so bad he could cry.

Well...today was the first step in that direction.

As long as she said yes.

After what seemed like forever, noon rolled around, and it was time to go. He put on extra deodorant, popped a breath mint into his mouth, and left, walking toward the arcade with his hands in his pockets and his head held high. He looked more confident than he felt. Much, much more confident. His stomach ached, his heart slammed, and every muscle in his body quivered. By the time he got there twenty minutes later, he was a wreck, and close to backing out, but he dug deep, found the courage he needed, and went inside, ready to hold the hand of the girl he loved.

The arcade was dark and dank, like a cave, and it took a moment for his sun dazzled eyes to adjust: He looked around, but didn't see her anywhere. Maybe she was running late.

He started toward the snack bar to get something to drink while he waited, but paused when he caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye. He turned, and his heart came to a crashing halt: Ronnie Anne stood next to Pac-Man, her back to him.

And she wasn't alone.

Lincoln blinked, but the horrible sight remained: Poppa Wheelie pressed against the machine, his hands clutching Ronnie Anne's butt and their lips locked together, her hands rubbing him vigorously through his pants.

No.

T-This wasn't happening.

Hot, stinging tears filled Lincoln's eyes, and deep inside, his soul withered and died. Poppa Wheelie broke the kiss and pressed his cheek to hers: His and Lincoln's eyes locked, and he grinned...then lashed her earlobe with his tongue, making her shiver in delight.

Breaking down, Lincoln turned and ran, stumbling on the steps to the door, slamming through, sobbing and weak, dropping to his knees in the parking lot. Holding her hand, kissing her, staring deeply into her eyes, their wedding, their happy family...gone...all gone.

Lincoln wept.

Bitterly.


	2. Grody Ass Ho

In the Loud family, if you have a problem you go to Lisa. Why does my stomach hurt? Go to Lisa. Why is my poop green? Go to Lisa. Why is Lori being such a royal bitch and leaving wads of bloody toilet paper in the john? Go to Lisa. See, Lisa was the smartest person _ever_ \- she knew everything, except how to have fun, but that's beside the point. When she got home from the dump, covered in mud and emitting squiggly green stink clouds, Lana went straight to her little sister's lab, pausing just long enough to pick a toenail up from one of the stair treads: It was purple and jagged, which told her it belonged to Luna.

Thanks, sis, I could really use one of these.

Gripping it between her thumb and forefinger, she dug one end between her teeth and dug out a five day old shred of beef, then went on her way, the acrid taste of polish, sweat, and toe jam filling her mouth like grody ambrosia. At Lisa's door, she knocked and waited.

"What?"

Damn, she sounds mad.

In addition to her epic genius, Lisa had a temper from hell. One time she threw a beaker full of corrosive chemicals in Mr. Coconuts' face because Luan pranked her. _That'll teach you, goddamn it,_ Lisa grumbled as she shoved past a shocked and grief stricken Luan. Another time, when Luna was playing her stereo too loud, she used some kind of science fiction noise gun to make Luna sick. _Let's see how_ you _like it._ Most of the time, though, she was content simply to explode and call you really big words that would really insult you if you understood them. Lana did _not_ feel like suffering her sister's wrath, but she had questions and she needed answers stat.

"Uh...can I come in?" she asked hesitantly.

There was a tense pause. "Enter," Lisa finally sighed.

Lana opened the door and went in: Lisa was sitting at her desk and working on her computer, her index fingers flying across the keyboard like drumsticks at a rock concert. A sea of beakers, test tubes, racks, petri dishes, and other, less nameable things surrounded her.

Despite being kind of afraid of her, Lana _loved_ coming into Lisa's lab because she always had gross stuff hanging around, like colonies of mold. Ummm. Those were really good, but if Lisa found you picking pieces away and shoving them into your mouth, she'd slap the back of your hand with a ruler. _Fool! What are you doing? That's_ highly _toxic!_ It's also highly delicious.

For a moment Lana waited, but Lisa didn't turn. "Hey, uh, I-I need to talk."

"Then do so," Lisa said, her back firmly to Lana.

Okay. Where do I start? She thought for a moment, then figured the beginning was the best place. "I found this magazine at the dump and looking at it made me feel all funny, and my thing started, like, getting sticky."

Lisa scanned the screen and hummed. "What magazine?" she asked.

"It's called who-still-er."

That's when Lisa turned, one eyebrow lifting quizzically. "Who-still-er?"

Lana nodded and took it out of her back pocket. "It has naked people in it," she explained as she handed it over. Lisa took it, unrolled it, and read the cover. She looked up and regarded Lana the way a parent might a particularly stupid child.

She sighed. "Lana, this is a _Hustler_ , It's a pornographic publication dedicated solely to stroking the basest instincts of men and lesbians and running articles that are factually incorrect and slanted so far to the left that the words practically slide off the page."

Uh...what?

"In other words, sex."

Oh, Okay. Sex. Yeah. Lana rubbed the back of her neck and brushed her teeth across her lower lip. "What, uh, what is sex again?" she asked, fronting like she knew what it was but just forgot.

Crossing her arms, Lisa rolled her eyes. "It's a biological function regrettably hardwired into our species to promote the propagation of our species."

That...made sense, I guess.

"Shall I explain it to you in layman's terms?" Lisa asked.

Shamefaced, Lana nodded.

"Fine," Lisa said, "pull up a chair."

Lana grabbed a pink plastic chair from in front of Lily's crib, dragged it over, and sat down like a girl getting ready for a good story. Lisa crossed her legs, sat the _Hustler_ in her lap, and rested her hands on the arms of her chair. "You understand the concept of hunger, correct?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Sexual desire works the same way. It's something you feel in the natural course of life, especially when confronted with stimulating material such as a pornographic magazine or a particularly attractive male. When you are aroused, your vagina produces lubricant to facilitate penetration, which is what you experienced today."

Lana blinked. "It is?"

"Yes," Lisa said. "During arousal, blood flow to the genitals increases, which helps to spur the production of vaginal lubrication, and causes swelling in the clitoris, labia minora, labia majora, and vagina. As arousal continues, the labia minora and majora may swell in size and deepen their natural color. The vagina expands and lengthens, too, as the uterus is pulled upward into the body, changing the position of the cervix."

Lana had no idea what any of this meant.

"This is to make it easier for the male to insert his penis into the female," Lisa said, "and to ready the female's body for insemination -"

"What?"

" - don't interrupt while I'm speaking. When a male is aroused, blow flows to his penis and increases its size, making it bigger and 'harder' as it were. The man then puts his penis into the woman's vaginal opening, pumps, and then ejaculates his semen into her, whereupon the female's egg is fertilized, resulting in pregnancy, childbirth, and increased personal expenses."

Lana's head spun; she had even more questions than before. "So...girls have eggs inside of them?"

"Yes," Lisa said.

Lana grinned. "Can we lay 'em like chickens?"

For a moment Lisa stared at her with a blank expression. "No. We cannot."

Aw, man. She was really looking forward to laying an egg and then eating it with horseradish and whipped cream. "Does it hurt?" she asked. "Sex?"

"At first," Lisa said, "tremendously...depending on the length and girth of your partner's penis. After a few minutes, however, it feels amazing. And once you achieve orgasm…" Lisa trailed off and threw her head back. "Oh, mama."

Lana squinted. "What's orgasm?"

Lisa opened her mouth, then closed it again, her fingers thoughtfully stroking her chin as she searched for a way to phrase it so that Lana would understand. "Take the feeling of your biggest and most satisfying poop...and multiply it by a thousand."

Lana's jaw dropped. There was no better feeling in the world then the release of pushing out a monster poop - it was like utter bliss, and made her eyes roll back into her head. If sex was a thousand times better than _that_ , she wanted to do it _now._

Seeming to infer this, Lisa said, "Sexual intercourse is something that should only be done with someone you love. Once you find a male you feel affectionate toward, and who returns your feelings, you may have sex. But not a moment sooner, or else you'll become a single mother leeching off our already overtaxed welfare system, and God knows we don't need anymore of _those_."

Aw, man. I can't lay eggs and now I can't do sex either. See what I meant about Lisa not knowing how to have fun?

Wait a minute!

What am _I_ thinking? I do love a boy...and he loves me too.

Lincoln.

I can have sex with him.

Lana Loud, you are one…

"And if you're thinking of engaging in sexual activity with our father, grandfather, or brother, you are sorely mistaken. That is called incest and incest is disgusting." Lisa shuddered.

Disgusting, huh?

As she left the room, Lana grinned. Her mind was made up: She was going to have disgusting sex with her brother and it was going to be _awesome_.

* * *

Lincoln dragged himself through the front door like a dead man walking to the electric chair: His shoulders were slumped, his head hung, and his arms dangled limp at his sides. He felt cold and tears dripped from his eyes. The vision of Ronnie Anne and Poppa Wheelie making out danced tauntingly through his head, and each time it did, his heart ached monstrously.

Underneath the pain was something else, something clawing and dark. Anger. How could she do this to him? He loved her! It wasn't fair, she wouldn't even hold his hand but she'd touch Poppa Wheelie's thing? What does he have that I don't? Aside from breasts. She knows how much I like her, and she doesn't care.

I guess I'm not good enough for her.

Can't blame her. Why would she want me? I'm a dork with a cowlick and busted teeth; my hair is white, my arms are wet noodles, and I'm a weak-willed pushover. I don't deserve her...I don't deserve anyone.

Blinking back tears, he closed the door behind him and started toward the stairs, but Lori's voice stopped him. "I thought you were at the arcade with Ronnie Anne."

The mention of her name sent a ripple of pain through his stomach, and his shoulders sagged even more, as if under a great weight. "She didn't show up," he lied.

"Oh. Well, you'll get to see her on our double date tonight."

Horror struck Lincoln's heart like a brick to the nose. He totally forgot: He and Ronnie Anne were going with Lori and Bobby to The Pizza Dungeon. Ice formed in his chest and dropped into his stomach. He couldn't face Ronnie Anne...not after what he saw in the arcade. "I-I can't, I'm sick."

Lori looked up from the couch and narrowed her eyes. "Don't _even_ try to back out of this, Lincoln."

"But -"

"Shut up. You're going and that's final."

Lincoln sighed deeply. "Fine," he mumbled and went up the steps. Seeing her would gut him all over again, but he guessed he had no choice. A tight band of panic squeezed his chest, and he paused, fresh tears filling his eyes. Why wasn't I good enough for her? What did I do wrong?

Maybe he'd talk to her...find out and try to be better. He'd do whatever she wanted him to; he'd do her homework, carry her books, spend all of his money on her, give her his video games - anything just so long as it made her like him again.

At the head of the stairs, he looked up, and jumped: Lana stood in his way with a big smile on her face, her hands clasped behind her back and her big brown eyes shimmering. "Hey, Linc!" she cried.

 _She_ sounded happy to see him.

Unlike Ronnie Anne.

Sigh.

"Hey," he said and waited for her to move.

She didn't.

Instead, she beamed up at him like a lamp, her teeth bared in a gap toothed grin and her eyes flicking up and down his body. She looked like she wanted to eat him, and he started to feel uncomfortable. "Uh...can I pass, please?" he asked.

"Sure," she piped and stepped aside. He brushed by, and stole a quick glance over his shoulder: She was openly staring at his butt. Was there a stain? He twisted around but couldn't see, so he wiped his hand across the seat of his pants. Lana smiled sheepishly. "So...you wanna hang out? I was just about to have lunch."

With that, she jammed her finger into her nose and wiggled it around, her eyes half-lidding in pleasure. Lincoln's nose crinkled, and as he watched in horror, she plucked a big, fat, juicy booger from her nostril and sucked it into her mouth like a vacuum. She hummed in delight and rubbed her stomach. "You want one?" she asked. "There's plenty more where that came from."

Gag. "Uh...n-no, I'm good, thanks."

"You sure?" she pressed.

"Yes," he said, then spun on his heels and fled into his room.

He didn't see the bitter look of disappointment on his sister's face.

Closing the door behind him, he went over to the bed and dropped onto the edge. He was hyper aware of the phone in his pocket, and wanted to take it out and call Ronnie Anne so badly his hands shook, but he wouldn't - she was with Poppa Wheelie right now and he didn't want to bother her.

Maybe she really _did_ like him, but liked Poppa too, like in the incest fanfiction he read online where the boy has a harem consisting of his sisters, or the father has one composed of his daughters. He wasn't too crazy about sharing her, but if that's what she wanted, he'd do it. He'd even let Poppa have her most of the time; as long as he got her one day a week, he'd be the happiest boy on earth. And if she wanted him to, he'd be hers and Poppa's personal assistant on their dates. He'd even pay.

Whatever it took to make her happy.

He sighed and wiped the drying tears from his eyes with the heels of his palms; the weight on his chest grew steadily heavier until he could hardly breathe. "I don't care what I have to do" he said, "I just want the pain to go away, and I want Ronnie Anne to like me again, a-and I want her to do what she did to Poppa Wheelie, even if I have to beg and plead."

"What did she do to Poppa Wheelie?"

Lincoln jumped so high his head nearly hit the ceiling, and the high, womanish scream that tore from his throat shattered windows five miles out.

"Sorry," Lucy said as she climbed out of the vent and dropped onto the bed, "I was in my dark place and I heard you talking." Next to Lincoln, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and planted her hands on either side of her. "What did Ronnie Anne do to Poppa Wheelie?"

"Nothing," Lincoln said, "I don't wanna talk about it."

Lucy kicked her legs back and forth and looked up at him, her eyes hidden behind her bangs. "Did she cheat on you with him?"

Tears welled in Lincoln's eyes, and a buzzsaw of agony shredded his heart. "Yes," he said weakly, and bowed his head "I-I saw her k-kissing him and touching his t-t-thing."

"Oh," Lucy deadpanned. "Wow. I'm sorry."

Lincoln sniffed. "Me too." He wiped his eyes. "I don't know what I did wrong. I was nice and kind and...and I treated her good. Why did she do this to me?"

"Because she's a bitch," Lucy offered.

That wounded Lincoln deeply. "She's _not_ a bitch."

"Lincoln...she was sucking another boy's face off and giving him a handjob. She's a bitch."

He knew what she was doing. He knew all too well. "It's my fault," he sighed. "I did something wrong. I must have. But I'm going to make it right. Even if I have to share her and pay for her and Poppa to go to Dairyland together. On my birthday."

For a moment Lucy stared at him, her face as unreadable as a blank page. "Lincoln, you sound like a cuck. She's obviously a two timing bitch, dump her and find someone who appreciates you. You're a nice guy and not butt ugly, so it shouldn't be too hard."

"I don't _want_ anyone else," he said, "I want Ronnie Anne. She's my soulmate."

Lucy retched. "You're a hopeless romantic and it sickens me. You're also a cuck, and that sickens me too - the latter because you're a great person and you don't need to put up with her shit."

"If I was so great, why did she go to Poppa Wheelie?" The tears were coming faster. "I drove her into his arms," he moaned. "I just hope he's making her happy, she deserves it." He pressed one hand to his face to hide his shame and failure as man.

Next to him, Lucy sighed. "Lincoln, stop blaming yourself. You're a great guy, you have good qualities, if you were a vampire, I'd go after you brother or not, but, alas, you're a mortal."

Lincoln took a deep breath and fought back the storm. "I just don't know what to do. I want to make it up to her but how? Flowers and chocolates?"

"Don't forget a card," Lucy said sarcastically. "SORRY YOU CHEATED ON ME."

Lincoln blinked. "They make those? Where can I get one?"

She looked at him for a moment...then got up and walked away, leaving him totally alone with the weight of his folly.

 _Somehow, Ronnie Anne,_ he silently vowed, _I'll make it up to you_. Even if I have to pay for and raise yours and Poppa Wheelie's children.

* * *

Lana lay prone on her bed, the _Hustler_ open in front of and her knees bent, feet kicking. Hopps sat nearby, just as interested in the 'gangbang' as she was. "This is so grody," she panted. On the page, a naked woman was on her knees and surrounded by men, their things all hard and putrescently beautiful. Her face, breasts, stomach, and hair were covered in that white slimy stuff (what did Lisa call it? Sea men?). Her eyes were rolled back into her head and the look of rapture upon her face was total. Lana licked her lips and turned the page: Now she was lying on the ground, her body dripping with sea men, whipped cream, dirt, ketchup, mustard, and cigarette butts. A pang of desire quivered through Lana's center and a shivery breath burst from her throat.

Hopps looked at her, and she licked her lips. "I wish that was me," she said, "that girl is _so_ lucky." She wanted to be naked and covered in all sorts of gross stuff too, and every moment that she wasn't made her stomach hurt. She tried to get Lincoln to do sex with her earlier, but he didn't want to. He looked pretty preoccupied, though, like he had a lot on his mind.

Ronnie Anne?

A twinge of jealousy pinched her chest, and her eyes narrowed: For some reason, thinking of Lincoln with that thot made her mad. She wondered if he did sex with _her_. She could see her now, no clothes on and smeared with poop and puke. _Oh, Lincoln, penetrate me_. An angry blush crept across the back of her neck and she took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He should be doing that stuff with _me_. I'm his sister, after all, and you know what they say about blood being thicker than water.

I guess -

That thought cut off when Lola cried out from the doorway. "Lana! The toilet's overflowing again!"

All thoughts of sex and Lincoln suddenly burned off like morning fog. Another overflow? Oh, boy, she _loved_ these. She jumped off the bed, grabbed her lucky plunger from its spot by the nightstand, and looked at her twin: Miss Pink and Prissy stood in the hall with her arms crossed. "It is _horrid_."

Lana grinned giddily.

And boy howdy, Lola was _not_ joking: An inch of standing brown water covered the bathroom floor, chunks of turds and bits of soggy toilet paper floating around like ships at sea. The smell grabbed her by the front of her overalls and jammed itself so far into her nose it touched brain meat, then dragged her forward. When she saw it, her jaw dropped and the corners of her mouth turned up in a sly grin. Hopps, on her shoulder, croaked, and Lana looked at him. "It's better than Disneyland," she said excitedly.

She started to wade in but stopped and slapped her forehead. "What am I doing? My shoes are gonna get ruined." She kicked her sneakers off, peeled her socks from her feet... _then_ went in, warm water lapping against her skin. She spotted a particularly large nugget, and, with a smile, she brought her foot down on it, splashing water: It squished between her toes like mud, and she gigged.

Behind her, Lori made a sound of disgust deep in the back of her throat. "You are _literally_ the grossest person ever." Lana glanced over her shoulder to find her sisters clustered around the door, Leni waving her hand in front of her face, Luna grimacing, Luan pinching her nose, and Lori looking annoyed.

Lana shook her head. They just didn't understand the joy and freedom that comes with walking barefoot through poop water.

"She is _totes_ nasty," Leni said.

Lana ignored them and leaned over the toilet: Clumps of paper and more bits of shit swirled in a hypnotic circle. She looked at the plunger and frowned. "I think this is a job for Big Bertha."

Big Bertha was her toilet snake; Santa left it under the tree last Christmas, and when she opened it, she screamed like a little girl. It was in the basement next to -

Oh, right.

Big Bertha was broken, snapped clean in half the last time Lincoln flushed something stupid down the commode. Well then, only one thing to do.

She tossed the plunger aside and knelt down, water soaking through the knees of her overalls; her sisters let out a chorus of "ews" and "yucks."

"Aw, man, she is _so_ dirty," Luna gagged.

"It's like a train wreck," Lola said in something approaching shock, "I can't look away."

Tuning them out, she stuck her arm into the toilet bowl and felt around, her fingers closing on a mushy butt rocket. She yanked it out and tossed it aside; it hit the floor with a plop, and her sisters screamed in revulsion. "I'm gonna be sick," Luan said.

Lana put her arm back in, up to the shoulder, and plastered her tongue to her upper lip in determination. A wad of paper was blocking the drain; she grabbed it, pulled it out, and dropped into onto the floor. Still, it wasn't going down. Huh. She swiped the back of her hand across her brow, and beads of toilet water dripped down her face, into her eyes and her mouth. Hm. Tasted like meatballs.

"I can't watch this anymore," Lori said and walked away.

"Yeah, I'm out too," Luna added. "This is just sad."

"You are uninvited to my birthday party," Lola _humphed_.

Seriously? Sheesh, try to fix the toilet and everyone gets super bitchy. "I dunno, Hopps," she said, "I think the can is done for." She got to her feet and shook her head at the decommissioned latrine. Oh well. Guess they'd have to poop and pee in the yard for a while. Lana _liked_ pooping and peeing in the yard.

In the hall, she grabbed her shoes and socks and went into her room, leaving wet footprints and bits of toilet paper in her wake; she sat on the bed and sighed, her thoughts instantly going back to Lincoln. She really, really, _really_ wanted to see his thing...and put it in her mouth...and get covered in his sea men just like the woman in the magazine; just thinking about it made her feel hot and sticky between her legs. Maybe after dinner she'd go to him and be like _hey, Linc, can I put your thing in my mouth?_ That would probably work.

Hopps jumped into her pocket and she stroked the top of his head with her finger. "You hungry, boy?"

Hopps croaked that he was.

Leaning over, Lana opened her nightstand drawer and brought out a Tupperware container filled with dead flies and crickets that she gathered from the yard and from the spot between the window panes. She pulled the lid off, grabbed a handful, and held it out to Hopps, then popped the rest into her own mouth, a mixture of soft and fresh and old and crunchy. Guts, wings, and eyeballs coated her teeth and stuck to the roof of her mouth.

A thought suddenly occurred to her. "Do _you_ think I'm gross?" she asked the frog.

His reply was _no, Lana, you're awesome._

Usually that was enough, but not right now.

Everyone else did, and not in a good way: They were always rolling their eyes and clucking their tongues, making mean comments and calling her names. She didn't really care, but what if _Lincoln_ thought she was gross?

Fear clutched her stomach. She didn't want _him_ to not like her either. Sure, she wanted to do sex with him, but it was more than that: His opinion had always mattered more to her than anyone else's, and if he said outright that she was nasty or being disgusting, it hurt her feelings and she stopped. He rarely ever did, but he was probably just being nice. That was him: Caring and kind to a fault.

Hey, Lisa said you only have sex with someone you love, and she chose Lincoln for a reason.

But if he thought she was a nasty girl like everyone else did, you can kiss doing sex goodbye.

"Maybe I oughta tone it down just a _little_ ," she said. She remembered picking her nose and offering it to Lincoln. She thought it was nice ( _here, have the biggest, meatiest one_ ), but he probably didn't see it that way. "But I like being nasty," she said, "it's fun."

From what Lisa said, though, sex was funner, and she _really_ wanted to try it even if it mean...gulp...being clean...just for a while. She glanced at the magazine - the woman lying spread eagle on the ground, covered in filth. _That's_ what she really wanted, but just regular sex would be okay too; it was already kind of disgusting since Lincoln was her brother and _ewww incest is gross._ She closed her eyes and imagined Lincoln on his bed, naked and hard just like the guys in the picture, his pee-pee standing up like an angry fist, his toned body begging her to run her hands slowly over it and plant little kisses on his warm skin. She wrapped her lips around his tip and pushed down, taking him all the way to the back of her throat until she gagged and puked; it ran down his shaft in hot rivulets and pooled at his base. Ummmmm.

She shifted, and her inner thighs rubbed wetly together.

"That's so arousing," she panted.

Dream Lincoln rolled onto his stomach, spread his butt cheeks apart, and presented his puckered butt hole for her to lick and kiss. As Johnny Bravo would say: Whoooooooa, mama! She giggled and Hopps looked at her like she was crazy; who knows, maybe she was.

Then again, if wanting to be covered head to toe in diaherra while your brother puts his thing in you is crazy, she didn't want to be _not_ crazy.


	3. Date Night: Party of Five

**I made Lincoln a beta male cuck in this story to poke fun at all of the other stories where he's a whiney, simpering, stammering, weak, sniveling little bitch. Does he annoy the fuck out of you? That's how I feel about the way many writers depict him.**

 **Drake: I write my own interpretation of the characters in my work. RA's actions aren't OOC because in this story she's a bitch - that's who she is.**

 **Guest Stereotype: I'm sorry you feel that way. I have a Lynncoln story upcoming that might be fresh and exciting, but it has zombies in it and you don't seem to care for horror. Maybe give it a try?**

 **Dread55: This story is already completely written, so is the one after it, and my current one is almost done. There's an ending not planned but done.**

 **Guest: Reeling in the Years was written after Finding the Time and is my best work as far as I'm concerned.**

* * *

Lincoln climbed into the passenger seat of the van and buckled his seatbelt - his movements were slow, robotic. He was consumed with worry and anxiety over seeing Ronnie Anne; his heart thudded sickly in his chest and his stomach coiled so tight he doubled over. "What's your problem?" Lori snapped as she turned the key in the ignition.

"Nothing," he said.

She glared at him for a moment...then reached across and pressed her palm to his forehead; it was cool and dry, like autumn leaves. "You're running a fever," she said, her tone softening. "Just...go back inside and forget about it."

"No," Lincoln said quickly, "I'm fine, really."

"Are you sure?" Lori asked. "Literally the last thing I need is you puking on the pizza and ruining my date with Bobby."

"I won't, I swear."

Part of him wanted to take Lori up on her offer to stay, but he _really_ needed to apologize and make things right with Ronnie Anne. He owed it to her for being such an awful boyfriend that she would seek in another man what she wasn't getting in him. Maybe, if God was good, she would let him at least be her sidepiece. He could live with that. It might be kind of humiliating, but he didn't care...plus, being humiliated was kind of hot.

Don't judge me.

Lori turned away. "Alright." She threw the van into reverse and pulled out into the street; soft purple twilight filled the world, and the lamps along the sidewalk winked on one-by-one as they passed. Lincoln stared out the window, his mind racing with a thousand different scenarios: Ronnie taking him back, Ronnie rejecting him, Ronnie doing to him what she did to Poppa Wheelie earlier (oh, he wanted that so bad), Ronnie kicking him in the balls and calling him a white haired spaz. His stomach turned and for a minute he felt like he was going to be sick, but he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and it passed.

Behind the wheel, Lori nodded her head to music only she could hear, then leaned over and turned the radio on; upbeat pop filtered through the speakers, and something about it made Lincoln feel even worse. He was sad and fighting for the love of his life here, happy music was grotesquely inappropriate.

Ten minutes later, the pulled up in front of The Pizza Dungeon, a hanger-like building straddling the Royal Woods/Elk Park town line. The corrugated metal siding was covered in flecks of rust, and several of the big windows lining the facade were boarded up. The sign was missing letters (T E PIZZ DUNEG N). Below the word _dungeon_ was a painting of the mascot, Dino the Hip Hop Dragon; he wore sunglasses and a bandana tied around his forehead like Tupac.

Lori pulled into a slot facing the door and killed the engine. "Remember," she said, "no puking."

"I won't, I promise."

They got out and went inside.

The first thing that Lincoln noticed was how dimly lit the place was - it reminded him of a cave. The second was the sound of the many arcade games lining the back wall. The third, and final, was the smell: Lincoln had been to a few nursing homes in his day, and they all stank of stale piss, dried shit, and disinfectant - so, too, did The Pizza Dungeon. It was new, conceived as a Chuck E Cheese knock-off and built two years ago, but from the state of decrepitude, you'd think it had been here fifty years, uncleaned and unrenovated the entire time.

He looked around and spotted Bobby sitting at a booth. Across from him was...Lincoln's heart sank into his stomach. Ronnie Anne looking extra ethereal in a purple hoodie, shorts, and purple socks pulled almost to her knees. Her head was bent over her phone, and a curtain of liquid dark hair obscured her angelic face.

"Come on," Lori said sharply, and Lincoln followed. Bobby looked up, saw them, and grinned.

"Hey, babe!" He got to his feet.

"Hi, boo-boo-bear," Lori cooed, and they hugged, Bobby's hand creeping to her ass and squeezing, making her yelp and giggle.

Lincoln stood next to the table and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, waiting for Ronnie Anne to acknowledge him; when she didn't, he cleared his throat. "H-Hey."

She grumbled a wordless reply.

Oh, man, she's _really_ mad at me. I don't know what I did, but it must have been _really_ bad.

Lori scooted in next to Bobby and they started pratting to each other like two school children. Lincoln waited for Ronnie Anne to push over so he could sit, but she didn't, and with a sad sigh, he sat next to Lori.

"H-How's it going?" Lincoln asked.

"Good," Ronnie Anne muttered, "now hush. I'm texting."

Lincoln flinched, then bowed his head. Next to him, Bobby slipped his arm around Lori's shoulder and drew her to him. Lincoln took a deep, watery breath; he wanted that to be him and Ronnie Anne so bad it hurt, but he messed up and ruined the best thing he'd ever had. His only chance at happiness! The only girl who ever looked at him like he wasn't a freak!

A waitress in Pizza Dungeon uniform - red T-shirt and black pants - came over with an order pad in her hands. "Hi, welcome to Pizza Dungeon, home of the extra thicc sausage pizza. What can I start you off with to drink?"

"Two Cokes for me and my lady," Bobby said, drawing the last word playfully out; Lori giggled like it the funniest thing she had ever heard.

The waitress jotted that down then looked at Lincoln. He always felt so put on the spot when this happened, and his face turned red. "I'll just have a Coke too."

"Me too," Ronnie Anne said without looking up.

Nodding, the waitress wrote down their order then hurried away, side-stepping…

Oh no.

"What it do, y'all!"

Dino the Hip Hop Dragon came up to the table and slapped it, making everyone jump. Lincoln didn't know how tall the man in the suit was, but the Dino get-up overall was at _least_ nine feet from head to toe, with a long, lizard like tail and wings sprouting from its back. Its mouth was frozen in a perpetual smile that bared jagged fangs Lincoln was _certain_ would actually draw blood if put to use. Dino playfully shoved his shoulder. "You 'bout to play some games, homie? Buy lots of tokens?" He glanced at Ronnie Anne then back. "Win something for yo' girl from the claw machine?"

Ronnie Anne snorted, and Lincoln's heart cringed. _I'm not his girl,_ it said. _He had his chance but blew it._

"What about you?" he asked and nodded to Bobby. "You tryin' play some DDR?"

Bobby chuckled and shook his head. "No, I don't dance."

"Tell you what: You beat me and I'll pay for your pizza. How about that?"

"No," Bobby said, "I'm good."

Dino stood up straighter. "Cuz you know I'll beat the spic off that ass."

The air left the room in a rush, and Bobby's smile dropped. "What the fuck did you just say?"

"You heard me, ese. I'll kick yo' ass right back across that border. Trump ain't got _shit_ on me."

Ronnie Anne gaped up at him in shock, and Lincoln looked away, his hand going up to shield his face from the brewing confrontation. "You are _literally_ being racist right now," Lori said.

"Bitch, shut yo' mouth," Dino said and waved his hand. "This little boy here got bigger titties than you. You don't need a bra, nigga, you need some Stridex for those pimples."

Lori gasped and Bobby jumped to his feet, knocking into the table. "Don't talk to my girl like that," he said and jabbed his finger at Dino.

I wish _I_ had a girl, Lincoln thought, but I don't!

"You gon' do somethin'?" Dino asked, taking a step back and throwing up his arms. "Come at me in some DDR, nigga. Imma make you my _senorita_."

Growling, Bobby brushed past Lori and Lincoln and looked up at Dino. "Let's go," he said tightly.

Dino grabbed a handful of Bobby's shirt and shoved him in the direction of the Dance, Dance Revolution machine. "Lead the way, Jose, see what you got." Lori and Ronnie Anne watched them go with slack-jawed amazement; Lincoln stared down at his hands; his vision was blurry, and they trembled.

"That was _literally_ crazy," Lori said and shook her head. "I hate this place." She whipped out her phone and started typing. "I'm leaving a one star review on Yelp." She shook her head and blazed her fingers across the screen.

Ronnie Anne watched Bobby and Dino dance on two side-by-side platforms: Dino jumped, spun, grabbed his crotch, and moonwalked. A group of kids gathered around and cheered for the mascot. Bobby looked like a man just beginning to realize that he's in way over his head. Lincoln favored her with longing, lovesick eyes, and when she turned to face him, he glanced hurriedly down. "I-I'm sorry I wasn't at the arcade earlier," he said because he had to say something.

"Eh," Ronnie Anne shrugged.

Really? That's it?

Lincoln was _this_ close to crying.

Across the restaurant, Dino did a backflip, and the game's voiceover cried, " _Perfect combo move!"_ Bobby glanced at him with envy tinged disbelief and shuffled his feet faster, missing moves left and right. The crowd was denser now, kids pumping their fists and chanting "Di-NO! Di-NO! Di-NO!"

Lincoln was getting desperate; he _needed_ things to be okay between him and Ronnie Anne. She was the sunshine to his flower, the air to his lungs. "Ronnie," he said, and she looked up. "Look, I -"

She glanced to her right and smiled.

"Hey, babe, sorry I'm late," a firm, husky voice said. Lincoln turned and withered: It was Poppa Wheelie.

"Hey," Ronnie Anne said happily. He bent and they kissed, Lincoln catching a flash of their tongues darting between their mouths. His stomach clenched and tears welled in his eyes. "I missed you," Ronnie Anne panted, and that was it: Lincoln leapt to his feet, knocking against the table, and fled, his sobs trailing behind him. Lori looked from him to Ronnie Anne and Poppa Wheelie with a furrowed brow.

"Come on," Poppa Wheelie said, grabbing Ronnie Anne's hand and dragging her out of the booth, "I wanna make out."

Ronnie Anne giggled. "Okay."

He lead her away, and Lori gaped after them. Just then, Bobby came up, panting and covered in sweat. "That dinosaur kicked my ass," he panted. He looked over, saw his sister and her little friend, and waved. "Yo, Poppa, what up?"

"Yo, Bobby!" Poppa called back. "Bout to get to third base with your sister!"

Bobby laughed. "Have fun."

Lori blinked. "What is _that?"_ she demanded.

"What?" Bobby asked, confused.

She gestured angilly in Ronnie and Poppa's general direction. "That!"

Understanding dawned in Bobby's eyes. "That's Poppa Wheelie. Real name Tim. He's Ronnie's boyfriend."

Lori's face crinked; now it was _her_ turn to be confused. "What do you mean _boyfriend?_ Lincoln's her boyfriend!"

Bobby blew a raspberry. "No he's not. He's nowhere _near_ man enough for her. In fact, he's a little bitch." He started to sit down, but Lori lashed out and shoved him away; he lost his balance and fell onto his ass with a cry. She got to her feet and grabbed her purse, her eyes hard and her lips a tight, bloodless slash.

"What's wrong?" Bobby asked.

"Screw you, Bobby," she said tightly, "we're done." She threw her puse over her shoulder and stalked toward the door.

Behind her, Bobby stood and dusted himself off. "We're doing this again? Really?"

She kept going.

"You'll be back," he called, "you always come back."

She spun on her heels: Her brow was an angry V, her eyes hard, her lips screwed up. "Fuck you!"

Growing, Bobby started toward her, but Dino popped up in front of him and shoved him. "Nigga, you best back yo ass up."

"Get outta my way," Bobby said dangerously.

"Or what?"

Like lightning, Bobby threw a mean right hook, but Dino was faster: He caught Bobby's fist in one giant paw and twisted.

 _SNAP!_

Bobby wailed in pain and sank to his knees. " _MY ARM! YOU BROKE MY ARM!"_

Dino leaned over the wounded boy as though he were about to devour him. "That's right, nigga. Don't start none won't _be_ none!"

Outside, Lori drew an angry breath and looked around, spotting Lincoln sitting on the curb, his knees drawn up and his face buried in his hands. His shoulders shook and the broken sound of his weeping found Lori's ears, breaking her heart into a million little pieces. She went over and squatted down next to him, her hand fluttering to his shoulder and her lips turning down at the corners. "Hey," she said softly, "you alright?"

Lincoln trembled under her touch like a frightened dog, and he sniffled. "Yeah," he said, "I'm f-fine. Sorry. Go back with Bobby, I'm okay."

Lori's eyes hardened. "Fuck Bobby. He's an asshole. Just like his sister."

"No," Lincoln sighed, " _I'm_ the asshole. I-I wasn't good enough for her."

"What?" Lori asked, shocked.

"I wasn't good enough. I don't know what I did, but she -"

Lori cut him off. "Lincoln...you're not good enough for Ronnie Anne; you're _too_ good for Ronnie Anne. She's a fucking ho who'd rather date some big, fat asshole than a great, handsome, and caring guy like you. Some girls are dumb as a box of rocks, and she's one of them."

Lincoln took a deep breath. "I-I just wish I knew what I did wrong."

Rolling her eyes, Lori sat on her butt and put her arm around her brother's shoulders. "You didn't do _anything_ wrong, Lincoln," she said. "She's the one who did something wrong. She made a very bad choice and let a good man slip away in favor of a little boy." She smiled and mussed his hair, and for some reason, Lincoln couldn't help feeling a little better. "Now come on. I'm hungry and if we hurry we can hit Burgertopia before it closes."


	4. Clean for Linc

**Dread55: No, because I'm not doing it seriously. It's a parody. Next two stories: Leni x Lincoln; Lynncoln set during the zombie apocalypse.**

 **Guest Stereotype: That wasn't the real you?**

 **Levi: I don't know when the Lynn story will be out. I have another chapter or two of this, then the Leni story, to put out first. I'd say sometime in mid-July.**

 **A Fan: What are you talking about? Even the Louds are assholes ;)**

 **A.T. Gunn: From the Wreckage is a story that I've tried to reread just to compare its style to my newer work, but can't. I didn't know it was that sad as I was writing it.**

* * *

The next morning, Lana did something she hadn't done in a _loooong_ time.

She took a bath.

Lori always said _Lana bathes once a month whether she needs it or not_ ; while that wasn't _really_ true, it was pretty dang close. Some people might like feeling squeaky and free of grease, dirt, and grit, but not Lana - her spirit animal was Patrick from Spongebob, especially that episode where he and Spongebob are arguing over which is better, clean or dirty. She was team dirty all the way, baby, and more often than not her mother or father had to chase her to the tub.

Today, however, she went willingly...after doing a little under the hood maintenance, that is. She started by brushing her teeth, which took forever because there was a so much plaque build up that the bristles were yellow by the time she was done. Next she gurgled with mouthwash, and when she spat into the sink, bits of bugs, toenails, rotting food, and God-knows-what littered the basin. Hopps, perched on her shoulder like a pirate's parrot, jumped down, shot out his tongue, and caught a fly carcass. "Ew," she said and crinkled her nose. "You're gross." She rubbed a circle in his head. "That's why I like you."

Hopps croaked that he liked her too.

Done with her teeth, she stripped out of her nightshirt and stood naked in front of the full-length mirror on the door. Hopps, still on her shoulder, looked away as if to preserve her modesty. Heh. "Don't act like you never seen me naked before," she teased and dug a cue tip into her belly button. She went nude all the time, especially in the rain. If Mom or Dad caught her, though, she got in huge trouble. One time Mr. Grouse saw her and called Dad. _Loud, your pervert daughter's strutting around in the buff again. You got five minutes until I call CPS._ She was grounded for a week, and Dad said if she did it one more time he'd never let her fix or remodel anything ever again, so she had to give it up, but on rainy nights, it was hard to sleep because all that beautiful mud called to her, tempting, begging her to come play in it with no clothes on…

Wincing, she pulled the cue tip out of her belly button and cringed: The cotton was covered in dead bugs, dirt, and lint. "Ew," she laughed. Next she hit her ears, digging out so much wax that it filled one palm almost half way; her mouth started to water and not tossing it into her mouth was the hardest thing she'd ever done in her life. "I gotta be clean," she told the frog as she dropped the wax into the trash. "Being grody is fun, but doing sex with Lincoln will be even funner." She went over to the tub, dropped the stopper into the drain, and turned the faucet on. "The maybe we can do gross sex like in the magazine."

She grabbed a bottle of soap and squirted some in; when the tub was full and bubbly, she got in and sat down, the water stopping just below her neck. Hopps leapt onto the ledge and watched. "You could use a bath too, mister," Lana told the frog. She realized she was still wearing her cap, snatched it off her head, and tossed it aside. Next, she undid her pigtails; her hair was stiff and matted. Holding her breath and pinching her nose, she dunked herself under the surface, then came back up with a gasp. Hopps stared at her for a moment, then leapt, landing on the top of her head. She rolled her eyes up, and he ribbited. "I know, baths stink, but we gotta do it."

First she lathered up her arms and chest with a bar of soap, then went back and got her butt and thing too, since those parts got the grossest; after that, she squeezed a slug of shampoo into her hair and massaged her scalp, her eyes closed and her lips in a lopsided grimace. "Lotta dead skin," she commented. "I wish I could eat it."

Done, she rinsed...and some got into her eyes, which stung _bad_. She hissed through clenched teeth and slapped her hand against the rim of the tub. "Dirt doesn't do this," she said sullenly.

Someone knocked on the door then, and she sighed. "It's not locked." She figured one of her siblings would need to use the bathroom while she was bathing. Hey, I might look dumb but I'm not.

The door opened and Lincoln poked his head in.

Lana's world came to a crashing halt. Except for her heart, that kicked into overdrive. "Can I pee?" he asked.

In here? With _me?_

All Lana could do was nod.

"Thanks."

He slipped in, closed the door behind him, and went over to the toilet, his legs planting far apart and his shoulders squaring. He was dressed in only his underwear; they clung snugly to his butt and bulge, leaving lots and lots of smooth, warm skin exposed. Lana's eyes traced the outline of his flexing shoulder blades and the curve of his yummy butt. She craned her neck to the side, hoping to catch a glimpse of his thing, but he moved. Dang it. She was starting to feel all warm and tingly between her legs and she _really_ wanted to see it.

When he jerked a nervous glance over his shoulder, she hurriedly looked away, her cheeks turning red. "Can you close the curtain, please?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure, sorry," she said quickly. She drew the shower curtain...then peeked through the gap: He started peeing, and the sound of his stream hitting the water sent shudders through her core. She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and held it between her teeth; I'll be your toilet, Linc - you can pee on me all night long. Get it all over me, rub it in with your hands and kiss me with your tongue, then cover me with mud and touch your thing against my thing.

Ohhhh, she was feeling _really_ hot now; much more and the water was going to start bubbling.

When Lincoln was done, he shook his thing over the bowl then tucked it back into his pants. Lana pulled away from the gap so that he didn't catch her, then listened to his footsteps. She _really_ wanted to do sex with him now; wanted it more than she wanted mud on rainy nights. The doorhinges squeaked, and her heart dropped. NO! He was leaving, she had to do something.

"Hey, Linc?" she blurted.

"Yeah?" he asked. She could picture him standing there with one hand on the doorknob and his face turned quizzically to the curtain. He looked cute.

He'd look a lot cuter totally naked and covered in runny soap suds. "Uh...do you wanna get in the tub with me?"

There was a tense silence. "Uhh no," he said.

Lana's spirits deflated, and her shoulders. "Oh. Okay."

After he was gone, she sighed and looked at Hopps. "I don't think he likes me," she said, and that admission brought tears to her eyes.

Hopps croaked.

" _How_ do I get him to notice me, though?"

 _Ribbit_.

Lana considered for a moment, then nodded to herself. "That might work. She's _gotta_ know more than me."

Fifteen minutes later, Lana stood in front of her sister with Hopps on her shoulder; she just finished telling her everything (except that the boy she wanted to notice her was Lincoln and that the reason she wanted him to notice her was so they could sex), and was awaiting her decision. "Will you help me?" Lana asked hopefully.

"Hmmm. I guess." Lola, arms crossed and hip cocked, looked her up and down. "It'll be a challenge, but I got nothing else going on." She turned in a swish of blonde hair and went over to her dresser, her butt wiggling under her pink dress. Lola was the closest thing to an expert on getting boys to notice you that Lana had: Every guy in school was in love with her, even the creepy janitor with the long, scraggly hair and beard. _Especially_ the creepy janitor with the long, scraggly hair and beard. Lana was kind of surprised, since Lola was a bitch to everyone. If someone was like that to her, she'd walk away and go eat worms, not offer to carry their books or get their lunch tray, yet every boy Lola met fell all over themselves to be her slave.

It was things like that that made Lana think _maybe_ boys were kind of dumb.

"The first thing you have to do," Lola said over her shoulder, "is not look like a day laborer."

Lana looked down at herself: She wore a light blue shirt under denim overalls and red and white All Stars. "What's wrong with how I'm dressed?" she asked defensively. "These clothes are clean - I made sure."

Rummaging in one of the drawers, Lola pulled something out and turned. She held up a pink dress with a big, gap-toothed smile.

Horror flooded Lana's stomach like ice water. "Oh, no, you are _not_ putting me in a frilly dress." She crossed her arms in defiance. She wanted help getting Lincoln to notice her, not to wind up looking like Lola the second.

"Do you want this boy to notice you or not?" she asked.

"Yes - and I want to be able to look at myself in the mirror."

Lola barked a harsh, humorless laugh. "Honey, you eat toilet paper, a dress is the _least_ of your problems."

A hot, angry blush colored Lana's face. "I'm not wearing a girly dress and that's final."

For a moment Lola simply stared at her...then sighed and tossed the dress aside. "Fine, look like a tranny Dennis the Menace." She went over to the table where her stuffed animals sat in chairs and dropped into an empty one. "I _suppose_ you can captivate this boy regardless. You do have _me_ as a teacher, and I am the most alluring girl in town."

Lori, passing in the hall, snorted laughter and Lola shot her a dirty look. "Alright," she continued, turning to Lana, "grab a seat, this might take a while…"

* * *

Lincoln couldn't sit still, so he paced the house making an endless circuit from his room downstairs, into the kitchen, and back again, his hands balled at his sides and his face set in a hard glower. Last night, after his talk with Lori, he did a lot of soul searching, and came to the conclusion that she was right. He _didn't_ do anything wrong. He was nice to Ronnie Anne, attentive, caring, and always treated her right - she was just a heartless bitch who got off on hurting people.

How come it's always the nice guys who wind up getting shit on? Why do girls flock to assholes? Didn't they understand that guys like that were no good, that they didn't really _care_ about them the way guys like Lincoln did? Girls, for some fucked up reason, are attracted to the biggest pieces of shit in the room, the guys who'll cheat on them, lie to them, beat them, get them pregnant then run out ( _that kid ain't mine_ ). Meanwhile, they step all over guys like him, only to come crawling back when they're a thirty-year-old single mother who can't make ends meet. _Marry me! Raise my offspring with another man! Pay for them! Pay for my mistakes and poor life choices._ Those are the lucky ones - the others keep winding up with the same type of man again and again, and then, after being screwed over three, four, ten times, they have the audacity to blame _all_ men and to ask _where the_ good _men at?_ Right here, bitch, but they aren't your 'type.'

There's a Bible verse he remembered from Sunday school: _As a dog returneth to his vomit, so a fool returneth to his folly._ That's women for you: They keep going right back to the type of man who did them wrong in the first place and were too fucking stupid to realize it. Most of these guys were so transparent, too - like Poppa Wheelie. He was loud, rude, crass, belligerent, a bully, and treated everyone around him like dirt. Perfect guy, huh? Put a ring on it, can't let _him_ get away.

You know what, though? Ronnie Anne was the same way, and before long they'd start butting heads, because that's what happens when you're too much like your partner. He'd break up with her, or she with him, and you can bet your bottom dollar she'd turn up on _his_ doorstep the very next day. _Hey, lame-o, wanna go to the arcade?_

 _No, I don't,_ he'd say, then slam the door in her face. She'd realize then what a horrible person she's been, and she would feel _awful_ , just like he felt right now. The prospect made him grin as he climbed the stairs for the fifteenth time that morning. He was sweating and his heart raced, but it felt good to be moving, to burn all of the dark energy pressing against his chest. He reached his door, turned, and went down the steps again.

She'd see, then she'd beg his forgiveness, but he wouldn't let her have it; she didn't deserve it - kissing Poppa Wheelie in front of him like that, putting her tongue into his mouth and giving him what Lincoln wanted so dearly for himself. No, she didn't deserve it at _all_.

In the living room, he passed behind the couch, and Leni twisted around, her brow creasing. "Why do you keep walking around? Did you lose something?" Her brows shot up. "Is it your contacts?"

Lynn, sprawled on the armchair, legs dangling over one end and ponytail dangling over the other, tossed a football into the air and caught it. "He doesn't _wear_ contacts, genius."

"Oh, right," Leni said, "that's me."

Lynn rolled her eyes; Leni didn't wear contacts either.

In the kitchen, Lincoln went to the sliding glass door, then pulled a crisp about face with military precision. He oughta march over to her house right now and give her a piece of his mind. He could see her now withring under his assault, her eyes widening as it finally dawned on her how wrong she'd treated him. If he was lucky, she'd cry the way he cried, and she'd be so upset she'd break up with Poppa Wheelie and _he'd_ cry too. Lincoln's lips peeled back from his teeth in a sneer and his fingernails dug into the soft, fleshy padding of his palms. _Please, lame-o, I'm so sorry, I understand how great of a guy you are now, I was a fool to do that to you. I'll do anything to make it up to you, anything. Forgive me!_

If she was _really_ and truly sorry...maybe he _would_ forgive her. He didn't want to think that he would, but he was weak, and under all the simmering anger and writhing pain, he was still in love with her, and the image of her glowing face made him shiver in delight.

No, no he wouldn't. She might be beautiful on the outside, but on the inside she was the devil. She was like a fruit that is ripe and healthy on the surface, but is black and rotted beneath.

Well...maybe he was being too harsh. People make mistakes, and that's what she was doing now, wasn't it? Making a mistake?

Then again, the way she acted last night...she wouldn't even _look_ at him, and when he tried to talk to her, she either ignored him or snapped at him to be quiet. _I'm texting, lame-o. My boyfriend Poppa Wheelie's going to be here soon and he's_ sooo _much better than you._

Hot rage wafted through Lincoln's chest like a furnace blast, and his fists tightened. He felt like hitting something, lashing out and denting the fridge or smashing through the wall.

Or breaking Poppa Wheelie's face.

The image of that fat SOB lying on the ground with a busted nose brought a smile to Lincoln's lips. _I'm sorry I stole your girlfriend,_ he said, bits of broken teeth flying from his mouth.

In his fantasy, Lincoln kicked him right in his bulging gut. _Take_ that, _lard ass!_ Poppa Wheelie started to cry, his blubber shaking like Jello in a pan, and he begged for mercy, but Lincoln was a vengeful God, kicking, kicking, kicking until the police dragged him off. When he explained the situation, the cops took out their billy clubs and started beating him too.

He was back in the kitchen now without remembering how he got there. Lucy sat at the table bent over a notebook and writing, the tip of her pen dancing across the page. She sensed him, looked up, and watched as he went to the sliding glass door and turned. "Still upset about Ronnie Anne?" she asked.

"No," he said, "I'm _mad_."

Lucy stared at him for a moment. "Good," she finally said, "what she did was wrong and you have every right to be, but don't let it…"

"It's consuming me, like a fire," he said, clenching and unclenching his fists. It coursed through his veins, a righteous, burning fury like lava, and keeping it from erupting was getting harder by the minute.

"You shouldn't give her that kind of power over you," Lucy said, "forget her and move on. Don't dwell and don't co -"

"I'm going to confront her."

Lucy sighed. "Whatever."

He balled his fists and went into the living room, where Luan, Leni, Lori, and Luna sat on the couch in front of the TV. Luan turned, grinned, and started to make a joke, but Lincoln held up his hand. "Not in the mood."

Luan hung her head.

Normally he would feel bad, but right now he was fuming, and the look of disappointment on her face filled him with savage satisfaction - she was no better than Ronnie Anne when you got right down to it; they were both girls and they were both mean to him. In fact, almost every girl he had ever known was a bitch to him, and treated him like a dog. They made fun of him, bossed him around, beat him up, stole from him, cheated him, lied to him. No more! Mr. Nice Guy Lincoln was dead and gone, and in his place was Asshole Lincoln. People liked assholes, they _respected_ assholes - he was done being a doormat and a limp dishrag. Come at me, Lola, I'll punt you across the house like a football. Try and give a noogie, Lynn, I fucking _dare_ you.

Pounding up the stairs, he went into his room, sat on the edge of his bed, and pulled his shoes on. He stood, grabbed his phone (no texts from Ronnie Anne, because of course not), and shoved it into his pocket. He went to the door, and Lucy appeared as if out of thin air. Anger bust in his chest, and he bared his teeth. "I _told_ you to stop sneaking up on me!"

"I didn't sneak," she said. "Where are you going?"

"To give Ronnie Anne a piece of my mind."

Lucy sighed. "That's not a good idea, Lincoln. Just take a deep breath and relax. Don't give her space in your head."

She _did_ have space in his heart, but she didn't want him - she wanted that fat slob Poppa Wheelie. They were probably together right now, her being all mushy and girly and him treating her like shit. _Grab me a pop from the fridge, will ya, sugar tits?_

 _Yes, sir, anything for you. Do you want a sandwich, too? Do you want to hit me again?_

A quiver went through Lincoln's stomach. "I'm not going to just sit there and take this from her. I'm going to tell her exactly how I feel. Now if you'll excuse me." He started to brush past her, but she wouldn't move.

"I'm telling you, you're -"

His anger burst, and before he knew what he was doing, he shot out his arms and shoved her roughly back; her feet tangled and she fell onto her butt.

Shock and remorse threatened to penetrate the haze of his rage, but he shoved them away and went down the stairs, Lucy trailing him with her eyes. "You're making a mistake," she called.

Lincoln ignored her and went through the front door.

Watch out, Ronnie Anne, here I come.

* * *

"Are you sure about this?" Lana asked uncertainly.

"Of course I am," Lola piped from across the table. She poured a measure of tea into a plastic cup and took a long drink, her pinkie extended daintily. Lana looked down at the magazine folded before her on the table. It wasn't a cool magazine like the one she found at the dump yesterday, it was something called _Cosmopolitan_ \- all girly and pink. Just looking at it made her want to puke.

They'd been here all morning, Lola doing her best to teach Lana her secrets, which boiled down to _I'm Lola, it just comes natural, I guess._ As a last resort, Lola whipped the magazine out and told her to read an article called _How To Get A Guy To Notice You._ She was half-way through and a lot of the stuff it was saying didn't make sense.

 _Before going out, primp until you've tapped into your inner Kate Upton. When you're looking and feeling your best, guys will sense that uberconfidence, which is practically catnip to men._

Uh, who's Kate upton and what's catnip?

 _Get him talking about something he loves. When a guy's talking about something he's really into, he'll get amped and subconsciously associate those feel-good vibes with you._

I'm not an expert, but isn't that dishonest?

 _Spritz perfume into your hair before going out, then lightly flip your locks when your guy is near. Scent is the sense that's most closely tied to memory, so he'll associate that sweetness with you as he thinks about you later._

Okay, now _that_ wasn't a bad idea. "Can I borrow some perfume?" she asked.

"It's on the vanity," Lola said.

Getting up, Lana went over and scanned the many bottles lined up in front of the mirror - there were dozens of every shape, size, and color. It was kind of overwhelming; she bit her lower lip and looked at each one. Which should she choose? What if it was a smell he didn't like? What if he was allergic to it and he broke out in hives and swelled up like a balloon? Heh. That'd be cool, but he probably wouldn't be in the mood to do sex. Almost dying has a way of doing that to you.

Finally, she settled on a purple glass bottle with a hot pink label. At the table, she sat and fiddled with the lid, finally getting it undone and nearly dropping it. Lola sipped tea and watched.

Alright, here goes. She held the bottle over her head and upended it: Cold liquid splashed onto her hair and ran down the sides of her face, stinging her eyes. Ow! WHY DOES BEING CLEAN HURT SO MUCH?

"Lana!" Lola cried. "You're using too much!" Like a shot, she sprang over the table and snatched the bottle away. Lana watched through her sodden bangs as Lola shook it and peeked into the hole. When she looked up and glared, Lana smiled sheepishly. "That was a forty dollar bottle of perfume," she said tightly.

"Sorry," Lana said. She moved her hair out of her face; perfume dripped onto her lap and the table, lending her the appearance of a dog who just came in from the rain.

Lola took a deep, angry breath. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"But -"

"Good day,." She crossed her arms and whipped her head away.

"But -"

"Not another word. You're no longer welcome here.""

Sighing, Lana got to her feet. "Can I keep the magazine?"

"Take it."

Lana grabbed it and went into the hallway, her head hung. That's what I get for trying to be clean and girly - it's just not me. I'm a dirty, filthy pig and I always will be. Lincoln doesn't want a dirty, filthy pig, though...he'd want a girl like Lola. I was a fool to think he'd want to do sex with me, especially gross sex. Sigh.

I just have to work harder.

She dropped to her butt, leaned her back against the wall, and opened the magazine. Let's see what else I can do to make Lincoln think I'm Kate Upton

 _When you're walking by your guy, arch your back, press your arms to your side, and take long strides. This all-eyes-on-me strut elongates your body, and will command his uninterrupted gaze._

Really? Guys care about how you walk? Why are they so picky? What's wrong with the way _I_ walk?

She felt even worse now, but she _really_ wanted to do sex with Lincoln, so she forced herself to her feet. Clutching the magazine in one hand, she squared her shoulders, held her head high, and threw one leg out in front of her in a wide arc, then the other, her arms flat against her sides. One leg, two leg, one leg, two leg. Ahead, Lisa came out of her room, saw her, and narrowed her eyes. "Why are you goosestepping down the hall?"

"It's what guys like," Lana explained.

Lisa stared blankly. "If their name is Adolf Hitler."

"What?" Lana asked and came to a halt.

Lisa sighed. "You look like a Nazi is what I'm saying. And Nazis are not attractive."

Lana threw her head back and moaned. "I'll never get Lincoln to like me!" As soon as the words were out, she realized her mistake and clamped her hand over her mouth.

It was too late, though; Lisa's eyes narrowed even more, and her lips puckered like she'd just tasted something sour. "I should have known," she said, her voice low and accusatory. "I assumed that your repugnant pursuits would end at actively seeking an incestuous relationship with your own brother, but I see I was mistaken."

Uh...Lisa say what?

"You are a disgusting and repulsive creature, Lana," Lisa said, "and I am so ashamed to be related to you that henceforth, I will no longer consider you my sister. From this point on, you are a regrettable houseguest that I will tolerate, but nothing more. You are hereby banned from entering my laboratory and you are not to speak to me unless I speak to you first. Is that understood?"

Lana didn't know a lot of the words her little sister used, but she got the general idea, and it pierced her heart like a blade. "Yes," she said heavily.

"Good," Lisa said, then looked Lana up and down. "Toad." With that, she brushed past and went down the stairs. Lana watched her go, then dropped to the floor, crossing her legs and resting her face in her upturned palms. Great, now Lisa _and_ Lola were mad at her. Maybe she should forget -

Lincoln came up the stairs, his cute little butt wiggling in his jeans, and Lana's breath caught. He went into his room, sat on the bed, and put his shoes on. Seeing him there - on a bed, where sex happens - made Lana's crotch tingle and her skin heat up like metal in a forge. Okay, screw Lisa and her big words, she wanted Lincoln to do sex with her and that was that.

She should try now.

Her stomach squeezed and her heart started to race. She could go in, close the door behind her, and do things to his body that would make Lisa swoon, then let him do things to _her_ body.

Suddenly, her underwear felt _very_ damp, and when she got to her legs, her knees shook; her heart hammered and her breathing came in shallow gasps. She took a step forward, the first on her way to nirvana...then froze when Lucy came up the stairs and stood in Lincoln's doorway. Lincoln towered over her, his face red and his jaw clenched.

"I _told_ you to stop sneaking up on me!"

"I didn't sneak," Lucy said flatly. "Where are you going?"

"To give Ronnie Anne a piece of my mind," Lincoln replied.

The mention of that name went through Lana like a cold, needling wind, and her eyes narrowed. Ronnie Anne Santiago, the girl Lincoln loved - Lana hated her guts because _Lincoln should love me!_

Lucy sighed. "That's not a good idea, Lincoln. Just take a deep breath and relax. Don't give her space in your head."

"I'm not going to just sit there and take this from her," Lincoln said. "I'm going to tell her exactly how I feel. Now if you'll excuse me."

He tried to pass, but Lucy wouldn't move, so he shoved her and she fell onto her butt. Lana's jaw dropped and her eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. He pounded down the stairs, and Lucy called after him that he was making a mistake.

Wow.

That was hot, I didn't know Lincoln liked to roughhouse! Ooooh, this is gonna be so much fun. She grinned, but frowned when she remembered where he was going...to see Ronnie Anne.

Well...I'm not letting him get away _that_ easily.

She hurried down the hall and then down the stairs, getting outside just as Lincoln rode off down the sidewalk on his bike. Her heart raced and adrenaline pumped through her veins. Oh, no you don't, she thought. She went over to the end of the porch, leapt over the railing, landed on her feet, and rushed into the garage. Her bike leaned against the far wall, black and green with a black wicker basket attached to the handles. She went over, got on, and started after.

Here I come, Linc.


	5. Confession

Lincoln bared his teeth and leaned over the handlebars, anger flowing through him like superheated air from a raging inferno. His mind raced with a thousand cross thoughts and his body trembled with barely suppressed ire. He stopped at an intersection and waited for a line of traffic to pass before crossing. Someone waiting at the light stuck their head out their driver side window. "Nice bike, fag!" Lincoln looked down, and that's when he realized that in his anger he grabbed Lori's bike instead of his: It was pink and a glittery with a licence plate that read LITGRL.

Oh well. He didn't give a flying shit: He was mad and hurt and sad and depressed and FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE! I RIDE WHAT I WANT! On the other side of the street, he swerved to avoid an old woman carrying a bag of groceries and followed the sidewalk, shafts of sunlight falling through the branches of trees lining the way and warming his cold, clammy flesh. He didn't feel it, though, he was lost in his own dark feelings, and the world didn't matter - nothing mattered except for unloading on Ronnie Anne, seeing in her eyes the moment she realized what a horrible bitch she was.

He hoped she cried. _I'm sorry sorry, Lincoln, I had no idea I was being so terrible. I'll do anything to make it up to you._

Yeah? Break up with Poppa Wheelie in front of the whole school - and call him a fat loser - then we'll talk. Until then, don't look at me, don't talk to me, don't even _think_ about me. You had your chance and you blew it, Ronalda. I'm way too good for you, I'm everything a good guy should be, and you shit on me. One day when you're pregnant with your fifth child and living in a trailer with a man who beats you, you'll see, you'll remember what you could have had and it'll eat you up inside. You'll see me in the grocery store and hope for a brief second that you can get back with me and escape your shit life, but then your dreams will be dashed to pieces when my beautiful wife walks up. _Which paper towels should I get, dear? This one says best in town, this one says best around…_ then I'll kiss her and treat her like a gentleman, and you'll be so jealous you'll explode in a ball of green light.

That thought was immensely satisfying.

At the end of Ronnie Anne's street, he paused and wiped the sweat from his brow; he was breathing heavy and his shirt was damp. He started pedalling again, unaware that Lana was coming up behind him, face red and chest heaving. He crossed the street and followed the sidewalk to Ronnie Anne's house, a dilapidated one story with grimy white siding, dirty white trim, and a roof from which shingles peeled like flecks of dead skin. The yard was overgrown and littered with trash and rusted auto parts.

He jumped off the bike, leaned it against the mailbox, and went up the walkway, his fists clutched and his teeth bared. His stomach knotted, and for a brief second his resolve wavered, but he steeled it. No backing out, Loud; when she opens that door, let her have it.

The stair treads creaked underfoot, and he stumbled when his foot hit a nail jutting from the wood. His anger flared and he kicked it as hard as he could; it snapped and skidded across the porch with a metallic clinking sound. He ripped the storm door open and knocked like a cop with a warrant. He didn't know exactly _what_ he was going to say, but it was going to be brtual - no holds barred, no kid gloves, no punches would be pulled and no prisoners would be taken. She'd be in tears by the time he was done with her, and they would be even.

Right?

Across the street, Lana scurried up the trunk of a tree like a small, blonde monkey and pulled herself up onto a thick branch facing Ronnie Anne's house; a screen of green leaves hid her from sight, and she had to shimmy forward a little to get a better view. Lincoln knocked on the door and, more insistently, his knuckles rapting the wood so hard Lana winced. What are you bothering with _her_ for anyway? Come do sex with me, Linc; I promise I won't even be gross, I'll just be dirty *wink*.

A bird chirped above her head, and something warm and wet plopped onto the back of her hand. She held it to her face: A big, creamy white dollop of poo. Yummy! She brought it to her lips and stuck her tongue out, but stopped.

No, she couldn't be grody right now. Later, after she did sex with Lincoln, she could ease back into it, but right now she needed to be cleaner than a Y7 TV show.

Actually, those are getting really raunchy now; she needed to be cleaner than that, so clean Blarney the Dinosaur looked gross next to her.

Sighing in regret, she plucked a leaf from the branch and wiped the poop off of her hand. "Maybe next time," she said sadly and dropped it.

On the porch, Lincoln tensed when he heard muffled footsteps approaching from inside. He stepped back and readied himself for the coming confrontation like a boxer preparing for his opponent's offense. The door opened, and she filled the frame, her eyes narrowing to annoyed slits when she saw him. Her black hair was messy, one strap of her white tank top falling down her bare arm. His eyes went to her chest, and his throat when dry when he saw her nipples making little tents against the fabric as though she were cold...or aroused.

"What do you want, Lincoln?" she demanded.

All of the anger and hurt was forgotten as he hungrily caressed her erect nipples, his tongue subconsciously swiping across his upper lip and his pants beginning to feel tight around the inseam.

"Well?"

He looked up, and though her face was screwed up in anger, she was beautiful, her eyes like murky pools sparkling in the light of the summer. His heart staggered drunkenly and his stomach lurched.

She glared at him...and he came _this_ close to kissing her, but froze when Poppa Wheelie came up behind her and snaked his arm protectively around her shoulders.

He wasn't wearing a shirt.

Lincoln's eyes flicked down to the front of his jeans.

He had a boner.

His mind flashed back to yesterday at the arcade, Ronnie Anne rubbing Poppa between his legs as she passionately kissed him, Poppa's hands gripping her butt. She never touched _him_ like that, she never let _him_ touch _her_ like that...and they were together for six fucking months! When her cat died, who was there to comfort her? It sure as fuck wasn't Poppa Wheelie. When she needed someone to carry her books or her tray, did Poppa do it? Did he let her borrow money and buy things for her? No, he didn't.

"What's _this_ dork doing here?" Poppa Wheelie asked, nodding to Lincoln.

Ronnie Anne glared. "Just leaving."

She started to shut the door, but Lincoln shot out his hand and held it; the rage was back, and he was going to take off on them like a rocket. Ronnie Anne lifted a sarcastic brow ( _really?_ ) and Poppa's face darkened. "I can't _believe_ you, Ronnie Anne," Lincoln snarled. "I thought what we had was special...then you turn around and...with _him?"_ He gestured to Poppa. "His breasts are bigger than yours!"

Growling, Poppa started forward, but Ronnie Anne held him back. "Lincoln," she said, "we didn't _have_ anything. I wanted to, but you were too much of a sissy to make a move, so you lost me to a _real_ man."

Her words struck him like fist, and he stumbled back a step, his heart seizing like it was going to explode. Tears filled his eyes, and he blinked them back. "You...you're a bitch and I hate you," he said.

Poppa Wheelie pushed past her and shoved Lincoln back; his heart shot into his throat and he nearly went down. "I think it's time you left, Loud," Poppa said. "Unless you wanna catch this heat."

Lincoln sneered and balled his hand. Before he could do anything, though, Poppa lashed out with a sick punch that caught Lincoln on the jaw: Hot agony burst in his skull and he toppled to the ground like a felled, white hair tree. His hand went to his face and he looked up at Poppa through a blur of tears. "You're so pathetic, Loud. You're weak and dumb and slow. No wonder Ronnie Anne broke up with you."

He looked next to Ronnie in supplication, but found none: She shook her head slowly, disgustedly. "Go home, Lincoln."

The tears came then, and he gave into them. He jumped to his feet and fled, his face buried in his hands and the taste of blood filling his mouth. Behind him, Ronnie and Poppa both laughed as they went back inside and closed the door.

It wasn't supposed to happen like that! SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO TAKE HIM BACK!

He grabbed the bike, but didn't have the energy to get on, so he walked it, his head bowed and tears streaming down his face. She was gone! Gone forever out of his life, and it really _was_ his fault! If he made a move, he'd have her, but he didn't because he was weak and timid and...and...and a pussy!

That made him cry harder.

He didn't realize he wasn't alone until he felt something tug at his pants. He turned, and was surprised to see Lana looking up at him, her eyes big and filled with concern. "You okay?" she asked softly. Her hair was damp and she reeked like perfume.

For a moment, he considered lying and putting on a brave front, but he couldn't. "No," he sniffed, "Ronnie Anne broke my heart."

Lana blinked. "Oh...uh...I'm sorry. Do you wanna talk about it?"

"No," Lincoln moaned and started walking again. For a moment Lana stared after him, then hurried to catch up. "I just did so much for her," he heard himself saying. "I-I loved her and she turned her back on me." Darkness flooded him like bubbling tar and his grip tightened on the handlebars, his lips twisting in a distasteful frown.

Lana, walking her bike next to him now, looked up at him, and the pain on his face skewered her heart. She opened her mouth to speak, but didn't know what to say, so closed it again; she wanted to do something to make him feel better, to dry his tears and to dispel the sadness from his eyes, but she was lost, like a little girl in the dark. She didn't know the first thing about broken hearts, love, or relationships. She knew she loved her brother and that she wanted to sex with him. That was pretty much it.

Still, he looked so sad it was going to make her cry, and that bruise on his face made her mad - she didn't know whether to break down or blow up.

"I'm just a loser," he sighed. He bowed his head in shame and struggled to keep from crying again. "No girl wants me."

She came so close to saying * _I* want you_ that her heart slammed like a warning shot. Instead, she swallowed around a lump in her throat and said, "Don't say that, you're awesome."

"No I'm not," Lincoln said.

"Yes, you are," Lana replied firmly. "You're the best guy ever and...and I love you." Those three words started to come, and she tried to stop them, but realized that she didn't want to, she wanted him to know how she felt, wanted him to know that he may have struck out with Ronnie Anne, but he'd scored a hole in one or something with her. She wasn't good at sports or puns (or sports puns), but...yeah.

She looked up at Lincoln, and he glanced over with a weak smile. "I love you too," he said, and it was clear from his tone that he meant it in a different way than she did.

"You're the best, Lincoln," she said seriously, her eyes meeting his, "and I mean that. You're way too good for Ronnie Anne, and she's stupid for letting you go." She sighed, and added, before she could stop herself, "She doesn't know how lucky she was."

Lincoln didn't seem to register what she said, or the implications thereof. "I just wish I was a better man. A _real_ man. Like Poppa Wheelie."

"You mean that blubbery thing that hit you?" Lana asked. "I didn't know that was a person. I thought it was, like, Jabba the Hutt or something."

They looked at each other for a beat...then laughed so hard they cried.

"He _does_ look kind of like Jabba the Hutt," Lincoln said.

Lana threw one arm out to simulate a huge, bulging stomach. "He came out like…" here she deepened her voice and stomped her foot. " _Cupcakes! Twinkies!"_ She glanced hopefully at her brother, and the smile on his face, and the sweet sound of his laughter, was like the sun coming out from behind a bank of clouds, warming her and binging a smile to her own face. "He looks like the Michelin Man, and those jugs...I hope _mine_ are that big when I'm eleven."

Next to her, Lincoln blushed, and for a moment she didn't know why, then it hit her: Oh, right, I was talking about my breasts. She glanced down at her chest. Or what will _be_ my breasts one day.

Did he think her lack of boobs was gross? She couldn't change that, but she _could_ make up for it - tendfold, even. She looked at him, and a mixture of need, love, and longing expanded in her bosom like a balloon. _I'll make you happy, Lincoln...like you deserve. And not_ just _with sex. With everything._

When they reached the house fifteen minutes later, they put their bikes away in the garage and sat on the top step. It was mid afternoon now, and the sun sat high and bright in the dusty blue sky, its heat pounding the thirsty world like deathrays from an old spy movie. Lana pressed her knees together and glanced at Lincoln, who sat forward with his forearms crossed on his legs and a deep, brooding expression on his face. She traced the outline of the bruise with her eyes, and sighed in angry sadness...or sad anger.

"I guess I'm just not good enough," he said and took a deep breath. "No use in crying about it. I just...I need to make myself better."

"No, you don't," Lana said, "you're perfect the way you are."

Lincoln shook his head. "No, I'm not. But moping about it won't help anything. I have to improve."

A deep frown creased Lana's face, and without thinking, she took her brother's hand in her own and slipped her fingers through his. His eyes met hers, and in them she saw hurt - raw, quivering pain that cut her like the serrated edge of a knife. How could someone so awesome think so little of themselves? "You _are_ perfect, Lincoln. You're everything a girl could want in a man. You're everything…" she choked, and her gaze wavered, but she made up her mind. "You're everything _I_ want in a man."

Lincoln's eyes widened slightly.

"She might not appreciate you," she hurried to add before he could reply, "but _I_ do. I love you and I want to make you happy."

Lincoln gaped, and her face burned: She felt like she was filled with a thousand tiny bugs all clawing her at once. "I really love you and I want to be your girlfriend. And do other stuff with you." Her heart slammed and her stomach twisted. She watched him with bated breath, waiting for his response, hoping he'd accept her affection, praying that he would tell her that he loved her too.

Instead, he paled and shot to his feet, his frame trembling. "I-I-I g-gotta g-go," he stammered nervously, then turned tail and ran into the house, tripping over the threshold and nearly falling. Lana watched his scurry up the steps, then winced when the sound of his door slamming echoed through the house like a final and emphatic _no._

Guess that answers _that_ question, she thought.

And cried.

* * *

In April 1945, as allied forces closed in on Berlin from all sides, Adolf Hitler retreated into the _fuhrerbunker_ , a vast complex beneath the city. Lincoln wasn't a Nazi, and didn't hate people based on their skin color or religion, but he couldn't help feeling like Hitler as he hunkered on his bed - trapped, confined, unable to walk outside for even the briefest breath of fresh air. If he did, he might cross paths with Lana, and he did _not_ want that right now...at all. In fact, he wanted it so little that he lied and told Mom he was sick so he didn't have to go downstairs for dinner. Not that he was hungry: Ronnie Anne and Poppa Wheelie beat his appetite to a pulp, and Lana kicked it into oncoming traffic, where it was crushed into paste by a convoy of eighteen-wheelers.

Presently, he wrapped his arms around his knees and hugged himself: He looked like a boy whose entirely life had just been swept away by a tsunami or a tornado, and if you looked into his haunted eyes, you'd swear that he watched everyone he loved die, come back to life, and die again.

Lana...is in love with me. My little sister...my _six-year-old sister_. If that's not enough to bother you, I don't know _what_ is.

But wait, I'm Billy Mays, and there's more.

When I was staring into her big, brown, earnest eyes as she spoke...I felt something inside, something like standing on the edge of a cliff and slipping, rocking crumbling from under my feet and that terrifying stomach-in-throat sensation of _falling._

Like...in love.

I came _this_ close to kissing her...maybe I'm emotionally fragile right now, but seeing the love and tenderness in her eyes made me feel something for her that I've only ever felt for one other girl, and her name rhymes with Johnny Mann.

She's my sister, though...and a kid! That's, like, double jeopardy. I'd be a pervert in two different ways, and honestly, I can't tell which is worse, the incest or the pedophelia. But the deep, weling _emotion_ in her eyes...God help me, I can't stop thinking about it, and when I do it makes me smile like a goofball. Man, of all the times for this to happen, right now is the absolute _worst_. I'm vulnerable and any token of love is a life ring to my drowning man. If this was two weeks ago, when things between me and Ronnie Anne were okay, I wouldn't think twice, but right now, in the state I'm in…

He drew a deep sigh and glanced at his dresser, where Bun-Bun sat with his head cocked to one side; he looked questioning...and judgemental. "I know it's messed up, okay?" His voice was defensive and broke on the word _okay_. "I-I shouldn't feel anything but shock and revulsion, I guess, but I don't, I-I feel…" he trailed off and buried his face in his hands. "I don't know," he moaned. "The love in her eyes was like the warm light of the sun on my frozen skin, like the water to my wilted flower, like...like...what I so desperately need." He let out a strangled sob and shook his head. "I'm so screwed up, no wonder Ronnie Anne left me. At least Poppa Wheelie is a normal guy who doesn't have anxiety and self-esteem issues out the wahzoo. And at least he doesn't fall in love with his little sister the moment she says she likes him. What am I even thinking? Kids say stuff like that all the time. _I wanna marry you, Daddy._ They don't know what it means! And how fucking horrible when the Dad's like _oooh, okay, let's get married, sweetie._ That's basically what _I'm_ doing."

Bun-Bun didn't reply; his stare was fixed, cold. Lincoln raked his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath. The walls were starting to close in on him and the air felt heavy, tasted stagnant. He leaned over, opened the window, and pressed his fingers to his temples. Alright, alright, what do I do? I can't stay in here forever, and there's no way in _hell_ I can duck Lana for any period of time - we live in the same house, three doors down from each other, avoiding her would be like playing a game of the floor is lava in an empty room. I could theoretically use the vents to move around, but that's not a long term option. I have to face Lana eventually and…

And what?

"I either turn her down or I don't, and with the way I feel right now...I won't. I wonder how many people out there who do illegal and immoral things do them because they're hurting and in pain? Like the guys who date and have sex with younger girls. Are they _really_ all leering perverts, or are they guys who need to be loved and seek it in the wrong places?" He looked at Bun-Bun, but Bun-Bun made no sign that he heard. "Or maybe it's just me. Lana said she loves me and wants to make me happy...and I really, _really_ want a girl to love me and care enough to ty and make me happy. It's wrong, though, and I'm grasping at straws here. I needed to suck it up, be a man, and deal with my issues...after explaining to Lana that what she's feeling is just her being confused."

He stopped to consider that a moment, then nodded. "Confused," he repeated, tasting the word as though it were sour. The prospect of her being mixed up and not really loving him and wanting to be his girlfriend hurt, to be honest. But what was the alternative? That she wasn't? That she knew exactly what she wanted and meant what she said?

His heart jerked against his chest.

"Okay, if she does...what then? I'd still be a pervert because she's my sister _and_ so much younger than me. And not just a pervert, but a predator too." He glanced up at Bun-Bun for answers, but the rabbit still wasn't budging; he sat there, looking down at him like a magistrate from the bench. "I should just stay here for a while. Play fuhrerbunker with Lana as the Red Army."

He snorted. "More like loserbunker."

When Lucy spoke next to him, he screamed and blasted straight up in the air like a rocket, then crashed back to earth like one too. "I say go for it."

"Lucy?!"

"Hi," she said.

Lincoln had no clue how she was so silent, but she was - more so than the spirits she claimed to hang out with. Her feet made no sound, her clothes did not rustle as she walked, she seemed to exist in a vacuum of time and space, and whenever she was near, Lincoln could _almost_ hear the sound of absolute nothing, wherein the universe whispers its secrets. "What are you doing here?" he asked over the frightened pounding of his heart. "I told you -"

"To knock," Lucy said, "I know. I came out of the vent."

He glanced up to see the grate above his bed missing. "So you were spying on me?" he asked.

She stared at him, and though he couldn't see her eyes, he could feel them boring into him, seeing deep into his soul and possibly into his future too. Lucy was like Suron - her gaze beheld _everything_. "No, I was in my dark place and heard you talking. You have a bad habit of that. Your voice carries, I wouldn't be surprised if everyone in the house knows your dark secret now."

Cold water shot through Lincoln's vens.

"God help you if Lisa finds out, she hates incest"

Lincoln's brow lifted. "Uh...how do you know _that_?" He didn't think that topic came up very often.

"One time Leni said Lori was cute and Lisa popped off on her; she spent forty-five minutes ranting and raving before she tuckered herself out. It wasn't pretty."

Oh. That was...interesting. "So...you heard what I said about Lana?" Lincoln asked, his face blushing. This was not something he particularly wanted to talk about, but if he was busted, he really didn't have a choice.

Lucy nodded. "Yes. You're not sure if she really likes you and if she does you don't want to like her back because you're afraid of being a 'pervert' but you're emotionally fragile and you _do_ like her but you're in denial -"

I'm not -"

"And you're planning to stay in your room until you're forced to leave. Rather than meet this on your own terms, you're going to put if off until it runs you down like a Mac truck. Personally, I suggest calling Lana in here and talking to her."

Lincoln's eyes widened. "I-I-I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because - "

"I'll do it then," she said and got up.

Lincoln's heart stopped. "No!" he cried and grabbed her arm. She turned her head and looked from his hand to his face, her eyes cold on his skin. "You can't tell her. I-I-I'll just handle this on my own, okay?"

"How do you plan to do that?"

Lincoln opened his mouth but nothing came out. He _was_ thinking of staying in his room until he was forced to leave and avoiding the situation, but now he didn't know if that was such a good idea. "I-I-I'll think of something, okay?"

For a moment, she didn't speak, then her shoulders lifted and fell almost imperceptibly. "Okay. If you say so."

Lincoln nodded.

Without a further word, Lucy got up and went to the door. When she was gone, Lincoln took a deep breath. Whew. She _almost_ got involved, and you know what happens when your sisters get involved in your business.

Bad things.

Bad, bad things.

But that was avoided, thankfully.

In the hall, Lucy sighed...then marched straight to Lana's room.


	6. Things Get Nasty

**Dread55: In a nutshell, Leni wants Lincy, like in all my classic ships. How she eventually goes about it is...unique. And hot. I can't say much without spoiling it.**

* * *

Lana had never been to a funeral, but she imagined that the somberness writhing in her breast was what one felt as they stood beside the coffin of a loved one. At dinner, she sat with her head hung over her plate to hide her pink-rimmed eyes, part of her terrified of Lincoln coming down and another part desperately hoping that he he would. He didn't, though, because she weirded him out and scared him off.

He didn't love her...he probably didn't even _like_ her anymore.

That thought was like broken glass in her soul, and every time it crossed her mind that evening, she teared up. I should have kept my dumb, grody mouth closed; I should have known I was wrong, I'm always wrong. Everything I do is gross and makes everyone sick. He's probably in his room puking right now. _Ew, Lana's so nasty *ralph* Doesn't she know she's my sister and that's wrong? *ralph* Of all the sisters who could fall in love with me, why did it have to be the filthy one?_

I don't blame him, I _am_ nasty...and I can't change. I'll _always_ be a mess.

When dinner was over, she escaped to her room, where she sat in the middle of her bed with her knees drawn to her chest and her arms wrapped around. Hopps sensed her distress and jumped onto her shoulder; he croaked softly into her ear, and she wiped the tears from her eyes with the heel of her palm. "I blew it," she said. "Not that I had a chance in the first place."

Hopps rubbed his head against her cheek like an affectionate cat, and she smiled weakly. At least she had him; he might not be Lincoln, and she couldn't do sex with him (she wasn't _that_ gross), but he was still pretty awesome.

She sighed and hugged her knees tighter. "I just wish I didn't say anything; it's gonna be weird and tense between us for a while. Maybe even forever." She didn't know which was worse: Not having him as a boyfriend or not having him as a brother. Could she say both? Because both stank pretty bad, and _not_ in a good way. "Man, I messed up so bad."

For a long time she sat there awash in her grief. At one point Lola came in, went to her vanity, and put her hands on her hips. "Hmmm," she said exaggeratedly and looked around. "I can't seem to find my _Parfum français de fantaisie_ anywhere." She looked over her shoulder, tilted her head to one side, and favored Lana with a strained gap-tooth smile. "Oh, that's right," she said through her teeth, "you used it all."

Lana hung her head. She really didn't care about Lola's dumb perfume right now; she had much bigger things to worry about. Like Lincoln not loving her.

"I guess I'll just have to do without thanks to you."

Lincoln hating her and thinking she was disgusting.

Too disgusting to love.

Anguish overwhelmed her; she buried her face in her knees and she started crying again, hot tears soaking through the fabric of her jeans. Lola's eyes widened, then a look of guilt crossed her face. "It's not _that_ big a deal," she said.

Lana sniffed and blotted her eyes with the back of her hand. "It's okay. I mess _everything_ up." She looked away, and Lola frowned. She went over and climbed onto the edge of the bed, her hands in her lap and her gaze downcast.

"Really," she said softly, "it's okay. Don't worry about it." She turned and put her hand on Lana's shoulder. "I-I'm sorry I made you cry." Her voice hitched as though apologizing physically hurt. Lana started to say that she wasn't crying over the perfume thing, but if she did, she'd have to explain herself, and she didn't have the energy for that.

"I'm sorry I used all your fancy perfume," Lana said.

"Don't be," Lola said, "I'll just have Lori buy me more...or else I'll be forced to tell Mom and Dad what she and Bobby did in Vanzilla last week." A wicked smile crossed her lips and fire filled her eyes. "Let's just say the sticky seat got a whole lot stickier."

Before she left, they hugged and Lana faked a smile; alone again, she sighed and glanced at Hopps who watched her with concern. "I'll be okay, boy," she said. "The heartbreak won't last forever. I hope."

She turned to the door, and started: Lisa stood in the frame, watching her and thoughtfully stroking her chin. Oh, great, Lana thought, just what I need, someone to make me feel even _more_ rotten about myself. "I see Lincoln made the right decision and rejected your disgusting advances. Kudos to him. I honestly feared the establishment of an incestuous relationship, but for naught, apparently, as he possesses at least a basic sense of morality.. If I were you, I'd move on and set my sights on a male outside of my family unit. Darcy has a seven-year-old cousin who may suffice. I will contact her and arrange for you two to meet."

"No," Lana said, "I don't want anyone else right now. I just...need time."

Lisa adjusted her glasses. "As you wish." She started to leave, but stopped and jabbed a finger in Lana's direction. "And don't even think about transfering your appetite for incest onto one of our sisters. Or our parents. Incest might be good and well in internet fan fiction, but in real life it's icky." She shuddered and walked away.

Well, Lise, _you're_ icky, so there.

For a while, Lana was alone with Hopps...and her sadness. She was just beginning to think of crawling under the covers and sleeping until her heart didn't hurt anymore when Lucy came in and closed the door, her white face expressionless and her eyes hidden behind her bangs. Lana felt a vague and not entirely rational twinge of fear: She wouldn't put it past Lucy to try and suck her blood.

"I need to talk to you," the older girl said. She came over and sat on the edge of the bed, her body half turned to face Lana.

Lana sighed. "I really don't feel - "

"I know you like Lincoln."

The words died on Lana's lips and dropped back into the pit of her stomach like a chunk of black ice. She's gonna yell at me like Lisa; I better lie. "N-No, I don't. I'm gross but not -"

"Don't deny it. He told me."

Oh no.

"Relax. I don't think it's gross."

Lana blinked. "Really?"

"Really. In fact, if Lincoln was a vampire, I'd tap him like a keg at a frat party, but he's not, and living guys just don't do it for me."

Lana's face crinkled. I didn't think it was possible, but she grosser than I am.

"The good news," Lucy said, "is he likes you too."

"He does?"

Lucy nodded. "Yes. He's just not sure you _really_ like him or if you're confused - "

"I'm not!" Lana cried as if to convince the goth of her commitment.

"And he thinks it'll make him a pervert if he likes you back."

Yep, that was Lincoln alright, so down on himself despite being so awesome. Lana sighed deeply and looked down at her lap; if he felt that way, he probably wouldn't want to be with her no matter how much he liked her.

When Lucy put her hand on her shoulder, Lana looked up. "I have a foolproof plan to make him fall in love with you."

"Does it involve walking a certain way and talking about things I like?"

Lucy's stare, like her expression, was blank. "No. Men don't care how you walk, especially not someone like Lincoln."

Leaning forward as if to impart a great secret, Lucy told Lana her plan, and Lana listened rapt, her cheeks blazing with color. On her shoulder, Hopps's eyes widened and if he had a hand it would have gone to his mouth. When she was done, Lucy sat back, and Lana could feel the older girl's eyes studying her. "That's, uh, a lot simpler than I expected it to be," Lana said and nervously rubbed the back of her neck.

"A plan doesn't need to be complicated to work," Lucy said.

"What if he gets mad at me?"

"He won't," Lucy said, "he might resist a little at first, but then he'll crumble like a vampire in the sun."

Hm. Lana sure hoped she was right. "In that case, I better look up -" she trailed off, suddenly really embarrassed. "- on Google."

Lucy nodded. "That would be helpful." She got up and went to the door, then turned. "Don't tell him I told you."

"I won't."

"Good."

When Lucy was gone, Lana grinned and grabbed her phone. Hopps croaked from his perch on her shoulder. "Still in the game, boy," she said, "still in the game."

And this time, she was playing to win.

* * *

Sleep came hard for Lincoln that night: For hours he laid awake in bed, the covers drawn up to his chin and his eyes pointed at the ceiling. He rolled Lucy's words around in his mind and tried to justify his feelings, only to swoop in and shoot himself down like an anti aircraft gunner shooting down a Japanese Zero. Part of him wanted to pull the blanket over his head and sink into the void where his problems could not follow, and another part wanted to get up, go into Lana's room, and...he didn't know, he didn't like thinking past that point.

Lucy was undeniably right about one thing: He had a bad habit of letting his problems go until they mowed him down. Think of it as ignoring a tiny flame...then turning around and finding your entire house engulfed and the only exit blocked. In the beginning you could have put it out with a single glass of water, now, in order to escape, you have to brave a wall of fire, and if you made it out the other side, your whole body would be blistered and burned.

Including your privates.

Ouch.

He needed to nip this in the bud before it got out of control - but how? Reject her? _Not_ reject her? What should he do?

Deep down he knew the answer to that...which is precisely why he was planning to put the flame off until it consumed him. He rolled onto his side and stared at the wall, where the glow of a street lamp outside cast a desolate bar of orange light. His jaw still ached and his head throbbed dully; his eyes were grainy and his muscles weary, but slumber would not come. He closed his eyes, and Lana's face filled his vision, her eyes welling with love and affection. A gnawing pang rippled through his stomach, and he suddenly wished that he didn't get up and flee the way he did, wished that instead he hugged her and maybe even kissed her.

With tongue.

AHHHH, God, I'm sick! As if I didn't have enough issues already, boom, this drops into my lap like a present from the heavens. Don't airplanes release their septic tanks mid flight? That was in _Joe Dirt,_ right? He finds what he thinks is an asteroid but it's really a big ball of frozen poop. Yeah, that's the kind of present this is.

Not because of Lana, though! She's great. I just...I'm an incest freak now on top of everything else. And a pedo.

But I want her!

Sigh.

Before dawn, he finally fell into a thin, fitful sleep, and fifteen minutes later, the bedroom door creaked slowly open, the rusty hinges squeaking and freezing Lana in her tracks; she winced and listened, but her brother's breathing remained steady and slow. Relaxing, she turned to Hopps, who sat steadfast on her shoulder like the bro he was. "Alright, buddy, this is where you get off," she whispered and took him into her hand. "I'll tell you all about it in the morning," she said, then anxiously bit her bottom lip. "If it goes well."

She sat him down on the floor, and he hopped into the hall, then turned and puffed out his chest - if he could, he probably would have saluted and told her _godspeed_. She squatted down and patted his head. "Then we'll get you a girl frog. How does that sound?"

 _Ribbit!_

Lana chuckled and got to her feet. "Alright, then. Wish me luck."

She shut the door and turned, the sound of the latch catching ringing through her head with grim finality - suddenly she felt lost and intimidated, like a little girl standing on the edge of a deep, uncharted forest. She tried to take a step forward, but her muscles locked up and she couldn't move. Lucy said Lincoln wouldn't be mad at her, but what if she was wrong and he _did_ get angry? She didn't want to make him upset, she wanted to make him happy.

Maybe she shouldn't do this...maybe she should just go back to bed and forget it.

Instead, she took a deep breath and crept to the side of the bed. Lincoln was flat on his back with the covers pulled to his chin; his eyes were closed and his mouth hung open, a ribbon of drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. Her eyes caressed him up and down, and by the time they reached his face the third time, her body was hot and her center tingled; she brushed her teeth across her bottom lip and made her decision.

She was going to do it.

Reaching up, she took her hat off and tossed it aside, then hesitated before stripping her nightgown off, pulling it slowly over her head and dropping into the floor. She was entirely naked now, a beam of moonlight painting her body silvery white; the cool air was painful against her fevered flesh. She took another step toward he bed, and her inner thighs rubbed wetly together. Her breathing came in short gasps now and her heart slammed; her fears and trepidations shrank until they were dwarfed by her desire. She gripped the cover and yanked it down Lincoln's body to his knees; he wore an orange pajama set that was a size too small - it clung to his bulge and when she saw it her heart skipped a beat. His thing was feet away, covered by just a thin layer of fabric.

She licked her lips, then climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath her weight. Lincoln stirred and smacked his lips, and she froze, waiting to see if he would wake. When he didn't, she scooted close, her eyes level with his waist and her knees bent, then hooked her fingers into his pants. She could feel his heat already, and her loins quivered. She tugged them down, over his mound, and his penis plopped out, faling limply to one side and landing inches from her face; her breath caught and her eyes widened, the musky scent of crotch filling her nose and stroking her senses like a pedophile stroking a kid in the back of his van. Lincoln stirred, and her heart blasted. He didn't wake, though.

I better get started before he does.

Taking a deep breath, she wrapped her fingers around his length - his dick was smooth, warm, and full in her hand. As soon as she touched it, something happened, and it began to get firm, like a balloon filling with water. It got hotter, too, and Lana watched with wide-eyed amazement, her mouth hanging open and her core twinging.

Wow, that's arousing.

After a moment, it stopped growing, and while it wasn't as big as the one in the magazine, it was still pretty dang big, and beautiful too, from the crowned head to the cord at its base; she'd never seen anything hotter in her life, and her fingers began to caress him, sliding up and down his burning flesh, tracing every ridge, line, and contour, her excitement soaring and the insides of her thighs getting even stickier than they already were.

She shifted and brought her lips to the tip; clear fluid leaked from the slit on top, and she really wanted to taste it. She glanced up at Lincoln, still asleep, then lightly touched her lips to it; the salty flavor of his essence filled her mouth, and her passion overcame her. She took him in her mouth and pushed down, her lips molded tight to his shaft and her tongue curled around his underside - just like that Abby Script article on Google said to. He touched the back of her throat, but she pressed on because she liked the feeling.

Lincoln stirred and muttered, then, as she started to pull up, sloppily licking and lapping him like a dog, his body went rigid. "L-Lana? W-What are you doing?"

Lana splayed one hand on his trembling stomach and squeezed him with the other. She reached his head and swirled the tip on her tongue around it, mixing his precum with her saliva and swallowing. It was thin and warm and tasted so good - better than pee and snot combined. Lincoln shuddered and tried to squirm away, but Lucy said she had to firm, so she pressed harder on his stomach and went down again, her lips scraping his skin and her tongue flicking against him, dancing over the vein running down his shaft and writing love letters to his body. His breathing quickened and he tried to say his name, perhaps to beg her to stop, but it came out in a broken, wordless sigh: _Laaaaaaa._

Like music to her ears.

When she reached his head again, she spit him with with a wet _pop_ and looked up at him: His eyes were as big as dinner plates and his jaw hung slack, whether in shock or pleasure she didn't know. "I'm showing you that I love you," she said and gave his tip a gentle kiss. "And that I know exactly what I want - you. Whether it's gross or not." She flattened her tongue against his shaft and licked upwards, slow, like it was a yummy rocket pop. Her voice and movements bespoke a confidence she did not feel. On the outside, she was calm, cool, and collected, but inside, she was a nervous wreck, her heart aching like an abscessed tooth at the prospect of Lincoln yelling and sending her away.

In the dark, she met his eyes as best she could, and they twinkled in the moonlight like summer stars. "I love you, Lincoln. I want to make you happy...and do sex with you." She stroked his shaft, and his eyes rolled back in his head; a shiver tore through his, starting in his middle and radiating out like a ripple on the still surface of a mill pond, and a look of bliss flickered across his face. Lana smiled at how good she was making him feel. "Can I finish sucking you?" she asked.

He hesitated, and if his eyes were open, the conflict within would be clearly visible, one side wanting her to continue, wanting to give into the powerful sensation of her warm mouth working his dick, and the other wanting her to stop, damning him as a pervert. One side pulled ahead, then the other blew past; his dick throbbed hotly in her hand and his toes curled.

Finally, he made his decision.

And nodded.

"Awesome," Lana grinned. She wrapped her lips around him and went down, a long, low moan escaping her throat as his dank, musky taste filled her once more. He was leaking heavily, and it coated the inside of her mouth, all sticky and oily and grody and freaking _perfect._ She reached his base and hummed dreamily at the feeling of him pushing against the back of her throat. If she did it enough, she'd puke...and the thought of sucking her own vomit off his tool was crazy hot. She didn't think he'd like that, though.

Slowly, she increased her speed, her head bobbing and her lips working him with a wet squelching sound; she stroked in time with her thrusts, pretending that her mouth and hand were connected. Lincoln arched his back and grabbed the sheet in both hands; sweat sheened his forehead and his eyes pooled with nirvana. His hips started to rock under their own power, and Lana went faster, his desire sparking hers and making her ten times hotter.

"L-L-Lana," he gasped, "I-I…"

Suddenly his dick expanded against the insides of her cheeks. From her online research, she knew what that meant, and just how to handle it: She pulled up one last time, spat him out, and hovered her face inches above his tip, her eyes closing when his orgasm burst from his depths and splattered her face like snot flying from a nose. The first blast hit the tip of her nose and splashed across her cheeks, and she gasped at the warm, gooey, awesome feeling; the second went into her open mouth and landed on her tongue - it was thicker and saltier than the precum, hotter and more bitter too. The third broke against her chin and started to dribble down onto her chest. The fourth, and final, landed between her breasts and dripped down her stomach, pooling in her belly button and sending a shiver racing down her spine.

Lincoln moaned and flopped against the bed, spent, and Lana looked up at his face: It was red and sweaty, his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling.

Whoa. That was the coolest thing ever: She was covered in hot, sticky nastiness...and it was _awesome._

"How was that?" she asked hopefully.

Lincoln swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing, then nodded. "G-Good," he said, "r-real good."

She crawled up the bed and curled beside him, her hand going to his chest; his heart slammed wildly against her palm. He turned his head to her, and his eyes slid over her naked body, lingering on her nonexistent breasts. He swallowed again, then looked into her eyes. He seemed to want to say something, but couldn't force it out. "I love you, Linc," she said and rubbed a fleeting circle in his chest. "And I want to show you how a _real_ woman treats her man."

Their gazes held, and Lana's heart raced. He could still reject her, still break her heart.

Instead, he rolled onto his side and rested his hand on her hip; their noses brushed and their breaths puffed against each other's lips. He cupped her cheek in his hand, and grimaced when his cum squished beneath his touch. "I-I love you too," he said, and leaned in, "and I want to treat you good too."

Their lips pressed together, and Lana's heart came to a complete stop, her fingers curling against his chest. For a moment they stared into each other's eyes, then Lincoln's tongue darted out and swiped across her bottom lip; she sucked a sharp intake of his air, and he slipped his tongue into her mouth, clumsily massaging her own. In all the research she did before coming to him, kissing was one thing she skipped, so she let her body guide her; she lashed her tongue across his and tried to pin it like in thumb wrestling, but it pulled away and pinned _hers_ instead. She tried to get out from under it but he was strong; he slipped his hand into her hair and deepened the kiss, his leg swinging over her and his body mounting her. His head raked across her sensitive lips, and she gasped into his mouth; palms flat on his chest, she spread her legs in a V and hooked her feet around his hips.

Holding her face in his hands, he pulled back his hips and slid them forward, his head prodding her center. Breaking the kiss, he reached down, alligned then sexes, then pushed; his body sank a fraction of an inch into hers and parted her walls, and she hissed at the stinging pain.

"Are you okay?" he asked worriedly.

She nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay."

Bowing his head, he turned himself over to passion and thrusted, his dick filling her; she gasped and squeezed her eyes closed against a rush of tears. He looked big, but he felt so much bigger, and it was easy to imagine her pelvis splitting in half under the pressure. He splayed his hands on her shoulders and started to pump in a slow, steady pace, his breathing ragged and uneven, his body trembling in need. Her muscles clenched around him, and as he pulled back, it felt like her everything was coming with him.

When he was almost out, he thrusted again, and the pain was less this time. She dug her heels into his back and clamped her hands down on his shoulders.

He gradually increased his speed, and as her body grew accustomed to him, the pain gave way to such intense and burning pleasure that she could scarcely draw breath. Fire flooded her loins and spread across her body like poo water spreading across a bathroom floor. She threw her head back and lifted her hips into his thrusts, a low moan trembling from her lips. She'd never felt so amazing, so awesome, so fucking _good_ in her life - this was better than all the poop, pee, puke, and garbage in the world. Two days ago her favorite place in the world was the Royal County Dump, but from here on out, it would be Lincoln's bed.

Something hard and hot began to form in the depths of her stomach, and spasms raced through her body. She held on tighter and threw her hips into his, taking him all the way to the opening of her womb. Lincoln bowed his head and started to shake violently: His dick swelled inside of her, and she winced...then jumped when wet heat shot deep into her stomach, so hot it hurt, but in the most beautiful way she had ever felt. Something popped inside of her, and every nerve ending in her body exploded at once: She cried out and convulsions shot through her from head to toe, sweeping her away on a tide of ecstasy. She buried her nails into Lincoln's shoulders and bit down on her bottom lip to keep from shattering the walls with her screams.

Slowly, her orgasm ebbed, and she came back to herself; Lincoln was limp on top of her, his breath puffing hotly against her ear and his body quivering like jelly. Her lungs burst for air and her heart thudded a mile a minute. She was sore, achy, tired, sweaty, and sticky from her face to her chest, and could already feel his cum beginning to ooze out of her.

"That was so cool," she sighed.

Lincoln nodded. "Yeah," he said and swallowed thickly. "It was."

She took a deep, shuddery breath and ran her hands up and down his back, giggling when he squirmed. A surge of affection rose in her, and she kissed the side of his head. "I love you," she said.

"I love you too," Lincoln replied.

When he began to shrink, he pulled out in a gush of their combined juices, laid next to her, and took her in his arms. Nestled against him, her butt pressing into his crotch, she closed her eyes. Lincoln buried his nose in her sweaty blonde hair and took a deep breath, her fragrance filling his nostrils like the sweetest perfume and blotting out the memory of what's-her-name. Inner peace settled over him like a blanket, and soon, they were both asleep.

And both smiling.

* * *

Poppa Wheelie kicked his feet up onto the coffee table and laced his hands behind his head. He wore a striped red and white shirt and corduroy pants, both of which fit snug on his corpulent body. "So, babe, what'd you wanna talk about?" he asked.

Ronnie Anne sat facing him on the couch, her hands in her lap and her brows heavy with worry. Poppa figured something was up, but he didn't really give a fuck - RA was just his sidepiece, and as soon as Cristina came back from that mission trip her parents took her on, he was gonna break up with her. Cristina gave _way_ better head.

Drawing a deep sigh, Ronnie Anne reached into the pocket of her hoodie, pulled something out, and laid it on the table. Poppa glanced at it then at her. "What's that?" he asked, pretending to care.

Ronnie Anne sighed again. "A pregnancy test," she said, "and it's positive."

Poppa's fake smile dropped and his heart with it. "W-What?"

"Ya got me pregnant," Ronnie Anne said, her voice dripping sarcasm. "Congrats."

The air rushed out of the room and Poppa's stomach knotted. P-Pregnant? Like...she was gonna have a kid? _HIS KID?_

Fuck _that_.

Like a shot, he was up and streaking toward the door, moving with surprising speed and agility for a boy his size. Behind him, Ronnie Anne cried his name, but he ignored the Mexibitch; you ain't tying _me_ down.

He ripped the door open, but froze when he was met with a wall of suit.

Dinosaur suit.

He looked up, and Dino the Hip Hop Dragon stared down at him, a slight sneer on his face. "Nigga, get yo ass back in there." He laid one giant paw on Poppa's forehead and shoved; Poppa's feet tangled and he fell to the floor in a heap, the entire house shaking. Ronnie Anne screamed and drew her legs onto the couch like a woman who'd just seen a mouse. Poppa watched in fear as Dino brushed by. "Bitch, shut yo ass up. Where yo brotha at? Imma say sorry for breakin' his bitch ass arm." He started past the coffee table, but stopped, his neck craning to the side. "Yo, what this is?" He bent over and stared at the pregnancy test; when he realized what it was, his fist flew to his mouth. "Oh, shit, nigga." He stumbled back and started to laugh. "This yo baby, homedog?" he asked Poppa.

Poppa instinctively shook his head. "N-No!"

Ronnie Anne's face darkened. "Excuse me? Yes it is. You're the only man I've been with."

Dino laughed mockingly. "Y'all bouta be parents."

Terror clutched Poppa's chest. No. He was too young and handsome to be a father; he still had a life ahead of him. He wanted his freedom. "Changin' diapers at 3am, nigga; gettin' puked on, nigga; spendin' all yo money on ya kid, nigga."

A horrified "No!" burst from Poppa's lungs, and he got to his feet. He started to run, but Dino grabbed him by the back of his shirt and flung him across the room. He tripped and slammed into the carpet face first, his teeth clanking hard.

"Oh, uh-uh, nigga. You made this kid, you bout to _deal_ with it." He whipped around to Ronnie Anne, and she jumped. "Little girl, you done fucked yo world _up_."

Ronnie Anne bowed her head in shame. She knew...she spent all night crying.

"And that baby bouta fuck yo pussy up. You gon' be loose as a motherfucka. Unwed single mother ass ho. The hell you thinkin', girl?"

Covering her face with her hand, Ronnie Anne started to cry. DIno regarded her distastefully. "Umhm. Next time you gon' wrap it up, huh?" He loomed over her, head bent. "Too late now, though. Dumb bitch."

When Dino left fifteen minutes later, Ronnie Anne and Poppa Wheelie were _both_ crying.

* * *

 **I only added the last part because everyone wanted to see RA and Poppa get theirs. It wasn't written with the rest of the story. Hope it satisfies.**


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